ii^;4iSfe*»fl:^.* '^l^J^^  ?■; 


h 


'  And  the  rockets'  red  glare,  the  bombs  bursting  in  air, 
Gave  proof  through  the  night  that  our  flag  was  still  there. 


AMERICAN  :  . 
WAR  BALLADS 
AND  LYRICS  : 


A  COLLECTION  OF  THE  SONGS  AND  BALLADS 
OF  THE  COLONIAL  WARS,  THE  REVOLUTION, 
THE  WAR  OF  1812-15,  THE  WAR  WITH  MEXICO 
AND    THE   CIVIL    WAR  : 


EDITED  By 

GEORGE    GARY  EGGLESTON 


TWO  VOLUMES  IN  ONE 


ILLUSTRATED 


NEW  YORK  AND  LONDON 

G.  P.   PUTNAM'S    SONS 

Ube  Iknicfeerbocfiec  press 


Copyright,  1889 
1'.  PUTNAM'S  SONS 


"Cbe  "ftnickecbocher  press,  1ftevc»  IJorft 


CONTENTS  OK  VOLUME  I. 


Acknowledgement. 
Preface  and  Introduction  . 
The  Coi^oniaIv  Wars 

LovEWEi.i.'s  Fight    . 

The  Song  of  Braddock's  Men 
The  Revolutionary  War 

Libertv  Tree    .... 

Free  America  .... 

Emancipation  from  British 

Paul  Revere's  Ride 

Warren's  Address  . 

Nathan  Hale    .... 

The  Ballad  of  Nathan  Hale 

The  Battle  of  Trenton  . 

The  Fate  of  John  Burgoyne  . 

The  Progress  of  Sir  Jack  Brag 

War  and  Washington     . 

Columbia 

Taxation  of  America 

The  Battle  of  the  Kegs 


Dependence 


PAGK 

I 

3 
II 

13 
19 

21 

23 
25 
28 

32 

38 

40 

43 
46 
48 
51 
53 
57 
60 
72 


Contents 


THR 


Carmen  Bellicosum 

The  Yankee  Max-of-War 

Paul  Jones'  Victory. 

The  Royai.  Adventurer  . 

EuTAw  Springs  . 

An  Ancient  Prophecy     . 

The  Dance  .... 

Song  of  Marion's  Men    . 

Hail  Columbia  . 
The  War  of  1812-15 

Truxton's  Victory   . 

The  *'  Constellation"   and 
GENTE  "    .... 

The  Wasp's  Frolic    . 

"  Constitution  "  and  "  Guerriere  " 

The  "United  States"  and  "Macedon 

The  "United  States"  and  "  Macedon 

Perry's  Victory. 

Yankee  Thunders    . 

Ye  Parliament  of  England 

Comrades  !  Join  the  Flag  of 

Our  Nayy  .... 

The  Star-Spangled  Banner 

Sea  and  Land  Victories 

Old  Ironsides    . 
The  Mexican  War  . 

Monterey  .... 

Buena  Vista 


Insur- 


Glory 


\N  " 
.\N 


PAGE 

77 
80 

83 

87 

90 

92 

94 

97 

102 

105 

107 

no 
113 
115 
118 
121 
126 
128 
131 
135 
136 
138 
141 
144 

147 
149 

151 


Contents 


The  Bivouac  of  thk  Dkad 
The  Civil  War         .... 

Brother  Jonathan's  Lament  for  Si 

Caroline         .... 
The  Twelfth  of  April    . 
Men  of  the  North  and  West 
Rhode  Island  to  the  South  . 
Our  Country's  Call 
A  Cry  to  Arms  .... 
The  Banner  of  the  Stars 
The  Flag  of  the  Constellation 
The  Stars  and  Stripes    . 
The  Bonnie  Blue  Flag    . 
The  Stripes  and  the  Stars    . 

Dixie 

The  Oath  of  Freedom    . 

Civil  War 

The  Massachusetts  Line 

Bethel       

The  Charge  by  the  Pord 
Manassas    ..... 
Upon  the  Hill  before  Centreville 


STER 


159 
165 

167 
170 

176 
178 
181 
184 
186 
188 
189 
191 

197 
200 
202 
204 
209 
212 
214 


CONTENTvS  OF  VOLUME  II. 


Old  Land  yet 


The  CiviIv  War — Contiiiued. 
LvoN    . 

Mv  Maryi^and    . 
Battle  Hymn  of  the  Republic 
The  Picket  Guard 
The  Countersign 
Jonathan  to  John 
There  's  Life  in  the 
Never  or  Now  . 
Boy  Brittan 
The  "  Cumberland  " 
On  Board  the  "  Cumberland  ■ 
The  Sword-Bearer 
The  Old  Sergeant 
The  "Varuna" 
The  River  Fight 
Sheridan  's  Ride 
Kearney  at  Seven  Pines 
Stonewall  Jackson's  Way 
Marching  Along 
The  Burial  of  Latane    . 


PAGE 
I 

3 

6 

lo 

12 

14 
19 
26 
28 
30 
35 
38 
45 
48 

56 

58 
72 

75 
77 
80 
82 


Content6 


Tardy  George  .... 

Wanted— A  Man 

ovkrtures  from  richmond    . 

Barbara  Frietchie  . 

Music  in  Camp    .... 

Fredericksburg 

Treason  's  Last  Device   . 

In  Louisiana      .... 

John  Pelham     .... 

The  Battle  of  Ch.vrlestox  Harbor 

Running  the  Batteries  . 

Keenan's  Charge     . 

Death  of  Stonewall  Jackson 

Under  the  Shade  of  the  Trees 

Stonewall  Jackson  . 

The  Black  Regiment 

Little  Giffen  of  Tennessee 

Gettysburg        .... 

At  Gettysburg  .... 

John  Burns  of  Gettysburg     . 

Woman's  War  Mission     . 

Three  Hundred  Thousand  More 

Lee  to  the  Rear 

"  ke.a.rsarge  "  and  "  alabama  " 

The  Bay  Fight  .... 

The  Loyal  Fisher    . 

Sherman's  March  to  the  Sea 

Sherman's  March     . 


■AGE 

85 

88 
91 
95 
99 
103 
106 
109 

113 
116 
120 
124 
127 
129 

131 
132 

136 
138 
147 
150 
156 
160 
162 
167 
170 
193 
195 
198 


Contents 

IX 

PAGE 

Thk  Year  of  Jubii.ee 

200 

The  Conquered  Banner 

203 

Somebody's  Dari^ing 

207 

Left  on  the  Batti.e-FieIvD     .        .        .        . 

209 

Driving  Home  the  Cows  .        ,        .        .        . 

211 

After  Ali. 

214 

**  He 'iviv  See  It  WHEN  He  Wakes  " 

216 

The  REVEII.LE 

218 

REVEII.I.E    ........ 

220 

The  White  Rose 

222 

The  BIvUE  and  the  Gray          .        .        .        . 

230 

Ready          

233 

A  Georgia  VoIvUnteer     .        .        .        .        . 

235 

"  How  ARE  You,  Sanitary  ?"  . 

239 

The  Men 

243 

The  GueriIvLas 

245 

When  This  CrueIv  War  is  Over     .        .        . 

249 

Cavai^ry  Song  (Stedman) 

252 

CAVAI.RY  Song  (Raymond)        .        .        .         . 

254 

The  CAVAI.RY  Charge  (Taylor) 

256 

The  CavaIvRY  Charge  (Durivage)    . 

258 

R01.1.-CAI.1, 

261 

Reading  the  List 

263 

A  Woman  of  the  War 

265 

Glory  Hai.IvEi.ujah  !  or,  John  Brown's  Body, 

270 

Marching  through  Georgia  .        .        .        . 

273 

The  BATTI.E-CRY  OF  Freedom 

275 

Tramp,  Tramp,  Tramp 

277 

IIvIvUSTRATlONS  IN  VOLUMK  I. 


The:  vStar-Spangi^Ed  Banner 

The  CoIvONiaIv  Wars 

LovEWEivL's  Fight    . 

The  Song  of  Braddock's  Men 

The  Revolutionary  War 

Paul  Revere's  Ride 

The  Ballad  of  Nathan  Hale 

The  Battle  of  Trenton 

The  Fate  of  John  Burgoyne 

Carmen  Bellicosum 

The  Yankee  Man-of-War 

Paul  Jones'  Victory 

Song  of  Marion's  Men  . 

The  War  of  1812-15 


page; 
Frontispiece 


19 

21 

33 
43 

46 

4S 

79 
80 

83 

97 

105 


■ffllustratfons 


Truxton's  \  ictokv  .        .        .        . 

"  constitl'tion  "  and  "  gukrrikri 

Thk  vStar-Spanglkd  Banner 

Old  IronsidEvS  . 

The  Mexican  War 

Monterey 

BuENA  Vista 

The  Civil  War 

The  Twelfth  of  April  . 

The  Banner  of  the  vStars 

Civil  War 

The  Massachusetts  Line 

Bethel       .... 


PAGE 

107 
115 
139 
145 
147 
149 
152 
165 
171 
184 

200 
202 
204 


ILLUSTRATIONS  IN  VOLUME  II. 


Running  the  Batteriks 

Fronti 

PAGi: 
Spiece 

The  Civil.  War 

I 

The  Countersign    , 

15 

The  "  Cumberland  " 

35 

Sheridan's  Ride 

72 

Barbara  Frietchie 

95 

Fredericksburg 

103 

In  Louisiana 

.     109 

John  Pei^ham     . 

113 

Running  the  Batteries 

.     120 

Keenan's  Charge    . 

124 

The  Bi,ack  Regiment 

132 

Gettysburg 

.     138 

John  Burns  of  Gettysburg 

150 

Three  Hundred  Thousand  IV 

[ore 

160 

•ffllustrations 


"Kkarsargk"  and  "Alabama 

Thi:  Bay  Fight 

Thk  Conquered  Banner 

Driving  Home  the  Cows 

After  Ai,i. 

Cavalry  Song  . 


PAGE 
167 
170 
204 
211 
214 
252 


AMERICAN  WAR  BALLADS. 


ACKNOWLEDGMENT. 


T^HE  editor  of  these  volumes  makes  grateful  acknowl- 
*  edgmeut  of  the  courtesy  of  Messrs.  Houghton, 
Mifflin,  &  Co.,  Harper  &  Brothers,  Ticknor  &  Co.,  and 
D.  Lothrop  &  Co.,  in  freely  permitting  him  to  make  use 
of  poems  of  which  they  own  the  copyright,  and  of  their 
other  good  offices.  He  feels  himself  indebted  also  to  the 
living  authors  of  many  poems  here  presented,  for  their 
readiness  in  consenting  to  the  use  of  their  writings,  and 
for  the  care  that  many  of  them  have  taken  to  furnish 
him  with  correct  versions  of  poems  commonly  printed 
in  inaccurate  forms.  He  is  under  special  obligations  in 
this  regard  to  General  Albert  Pike,  who  has  furnished 
a  transcript,  from  his  own  copy  of  a  rare,  privately 
printed  volume,  of  the  stirring  ballad  "  Buena  Vista,'' 
for  which  a  vain  search  had  been  made. 

Acknowledgment  must  also  be  made  to  Messrs.  J.  B. 
Lippincott  Company. 


PREFACE   AND   INTRODUCTION. 


IN  the  preparation  of  these  volumes  there  has  been  uo 
attempt  at  completeness.  The  literature  from  which 
the  materials  are  drawn  is  much  too  vast  to  be  com- 
pressed into  two  little  volumes  like  these.  The  aim  has 
been  simply  to  make  the  collection  fairly  representative 
in  character,  and  to  include  in  it  those  pieces  relating  to 
our  several  wars  which  best  reflect  the  spirit  of  the  times 
that  produced  them. 

The  work  of  selection  in  such  a  case  must  always  be 
difficult  and  the  result  more  or  less  unsatisfactory.  There 
are  many  reasons  for  this,  some  of  which  no  one  w^ho  has 
not  undertaken  a  task  of  this  kind  can  fully  appreciate. 
There  is  no  fixed  standard  of  judgment  by  which  to 
make  a  certainly  just  comparative  estimate  of  the  quality 
of  several  poems,  some  of  which  must  be  taken  and  the 
others  left.  Merit,  in  the  case  of  w^ar  poems,  is  the  com- 
posite result  of  so  many  different  things  that  no  criticism 
3 


preface  anC>  1liitroc>uction 


can  hope  to  make  an  entirely  satisfactory  qualitative 
analysis  of  such  literature.  The  poetic  quality  of  some 
pieces  entitles  them  to  editorial  acceptance,  quite  irre- 
spective of  other  considerations,  while  there  are  other 
pieces  having  very  little  poetic  quality,  or  none  at  all, 
whose  claim  to  consideration  on  other  grounds  is  incon- 
testible.  Mr.  Stedman's  "Wanted— A  Man,"  Mr.  Will- 
iam Winter's  exquisitely  tender  poem  '*  After  All,"  Miss 
Osgood's  "Driving  Home  the  Cows,"  and  Mr.  George 
Parsons  Lathrop's  "  Keenau's  Charge,"  may  serve  as 
examples  of  pieces  which  no  editor  with  the  least  capa- 
city of  poetic  appreciation  would  hesitate  to  include  in 
such  a  collection  on  the  ground  of  merit  even  if  their 
character  were  somewhat  at  variance,  as  in  this  case  it 
is  not,  with  the  scheme  of  the  collection.  On  the  other 
hand  there  are  such  things  as  "  Three  Hundred  Thousand 
More,"  several  of  the  rude  songs  of  the  war  of  1812,  and 
many  other  pieces,  which  make  equally  imperative  claims 
to  favor  on  grounds  that  have  no  relation  to  the  question 
of  poetic  merit. 

The  song  concerning  the  "Constitution  and  Guerriere," 
for  example,  is  very  nearly  as  destitute  of  poetic  quality 
as  metrical  writing  can  be,  and  yet  no  editor  of  a  col- 
lection  like  this  would  think  of  omitting  a  piece  that  had 


{preface  an&  flntroDuction 


fct  so  inauy  years  stirred  the  hearts  of  patriots  and 
mcved  them  to  rejoice  in  the  achievements  of  their  coun- 
trj-'s  heroes. 

The  complex  nature  of  the  considerations  that  must 
determine  the  choice  of  poems  for  inclusion  is  but  one  of 
several  difficulties  encountered  in  the  execution  of  such 
a  task  as  this.  In  any  event,  many  things  must  be 
omitted  which  merit  insertion,  and  the  reader  who  misses 
a  favorite  piece  is  prompt  to  point  to  others  which  seem 
to  him  less  worthy,  and  to  ask  why  these  were  not  made 
to  give  place  to  the  one  omitted.  There  are  three  answers 
to  be  made  to  the  challenge  of  such  a  reader  :  first,  that 
his  judgment  in  the  matter  may  be  wTong  ;  second,  that 
the  editor,  being  human,  may  have  erred  in  his  choice  ; 
and  third,  that  in  a  collection  intended  to  be  broadly 
representative  rather  than  complete,  preference  must 
sometimes  be  given  to  the  less  worthy  piece  which 
happens  to  reflect  some  phase  of  sentiment  not  otherwise 
presented,  even  at  the  cost  of  sacrificing  the  worthier  one 
which  illustrates  aspects  otherwise  sufficiently  shown. 

So  much  by  way  of  explanation,  not  of  apology  ;  for 
if  a  book  be  in  need  of  apology,  no  apology  can  be 
sufficient  for  it. 

In  the  matter  of  arrangement  the  poems  naturally  fall 


preface  anD  "ffntro^uction 


into  five  principal  groups.  Within  the  groups  the 
chronology  of  the  events  referred  to  has  been  adopted 
as  a  general  rule  of  arrangement,  while  for  the  most 
part  poems  that  have  no  reference  to  particular  events  or 
epochs  have  been  placed  at  the  end  of  the  groups  to 
which  they  belong.  No  rule  of  arrangement,  however, 
has  been  permitted  to  dominate  other  considerations 
where  other  considerations  have  seemed  the  more  im- 
portant. 

In  presenting  the  ballads  and  lyrics  of  the  civil  war,  it 
has  been  thought  best  not  to  give  those  from  the  North 
and  those  from  the  South  in  separate  groups.  There  are 
several  objections  to  such  an  arrangement,  of  which  it  is 
perhaps  sufficient  to  mention  a  single  one,  namely,  that 
by  the  separation  of  poems  relating  to  the  same  events 
or  the  same  aspects  of  the  struggle,  much  of  their  his- 
torical significance  is  lost,  and  the  comparison  which  the 
reflective  reader  naturally  wishes  to  make  between  the 
moods,  impulses,  aspirations,  and  points  of  view  of  the 
poets  on  opposite  sides  is  rendered  much  more  difficult 
and  less  satisfactory-. 

It  would  be  a  special  pity,  for  example,  not  to  place  in 
juxtaposition  Bryant's  "Our  Countr}''s  Call"  and  Tim- 
rod's  "  A  Ct\  to  Arms."     An  essav  of  no  little  value  to 


Iprcface  an&  tTntro^uction 


the  student  of  the  inner  springs  of  history  might  be 
written  upon  these  two  poems  with  their  strange  simi- 
larities and  their  still  stranger  contrasts.  Indeed  a  critic 
of  creative  ability  might  almost  reconstruct  the  history 
of  the  events  which  produced  the  war,  and  discover  the 
characters  and  circumstances  and,  above  all,  the  points 
of  view  of  the  people  on  either  side  of  the  contest,  by 
a  study  of  these  two  appeals,  even  if  all  other  sources  of 
information  were  lost.  For  this  and  other  reasons  it  has 
been  thought  best  to  make  but  a  single  group  of  the 
poems  of  the  civil  war,  bringing  together  all  those  that 
relate  to  the  same  or  to  like  subjects,  and  indicating 
the  origin  of  the  southern  pieces  by  printing  the  word 
"  Southern  "  at  the  end  of  each. 

In  the  South  during  the  civil  war,  almost  all  the  adult 
males,  with  some  who  were  rather  adolescent  than  adult, 
were  under  arms.  As  a  consequence,  the  men  who  wrote 
the  poetry  of  the  Southern  side  were  necessarily  soldiers. 
But  in  less  peculiar  circumstances  the  men  who  write 
the  poetry  of  war,  the  men  who  make  the  songs  that 
soldiers  love  to  sing,  the  men  who  irresistibly  stir 
patriotism  in  the  blood  of  youth,  the  men  who  embalm 
heroic  deeds  in  thrilling  verse,  and  touch  all  hearts  to 
pity  and  all  eyes  to  tears  by  the  tender  pathos  of  their 


8  preface  an&  KntroDuctlon 

chronicles  of  suffering,  are  not  the  men  who  do  the  fight- 
ing. It  was  not  a  soldier  who  wrote  "The  Charge  of  the 
Light  Brigade,"  and  it  was  the  gentle  master  of  Abbots- 
ford  that  interpreted  the  daring  deeds  of  knightly  times 
in  song  and  story.  So  in  our  civil  war  the  most  and  the 
best  of  the  poems,  except  as  the  matter  was  determined 
at  the  South  by  peculiar  circumstances,  were  the  work 
of  men  who  were  not  themselves  combatants.  Cynical 
reflections  have  sometimes  been  indulged  in  on  this 
score,  but  they  are  unjust  and  shallow,  as  cynical  re- 
flections are  apt  to  be.  The  qualities  that  make  one  a 
poet  are  not  those  that  make  one  a  soldier.  Sometimes 
the  two  characters  are  united  in  one  person,  but  that  is 
rare  ;  and  the  man  who  has  the  gift  to  write  the  poetry 
of  a  war  which  involves  human  liberty  as  its  issue,  best 
serves  the  cause  by  writing  it.  His  part  is  as  important 
as  that  of  the  soldier  who  bears  arms,  and  his  influence 
upon  the  result  is  quite  as  great.  The  patriotism  and  the 
courage  of  the  Greeks  owed  more  to  Homer  than  to  the 
warriors  whose  deeds  he  chronicled,  and  Paul  Revere  did 
far  less  for  his  country  by  what  was  after  all  a  common- 
place horseback  journey,  than  Longfellow  long  afterward 
did  by  telling  the  story  of  that  ride  in  quite  other  than 
commonplace  poetry. 


Ipretace  anb  1fntro&uction 


Of  the  extent  to  which  the  war  songs  and  ballads  of  a 
people  influence  the  character  and  destiny  of  that  people, 
much  has  been  written,  and  the  truth  is  not  yet  half 
told.  Our  present  concern  with  this  literature,  however, 
has  less  regard  to  its  influence  than  to  its  value  as  his- 
torical material.  History  records  the  events  in  a  nation's 
life ;  poetry,  and  especially  ballad  poetry,  reflects  the 
character,  the  aspirations,  the  passions,  and  the  purposes 
of  a  people  ;  and  viewed  in  this  light  a  study  of  the  war 
ballads  and  lyrics  of  our  country  must  fill  every  reader's 
mind  with  hope  and  courage.  Many  of  the  poems  pre- 
sented in  these  little  volumes  are  rude,  some  of  them 
being  scarcely  better  than  doggerel,  while  much  of  the 
material  is  poetry  of  a  very  high  order  ;  but  there  are 
certain  characteristics  common  to  all  the  poems,  and 
these  are  the  characteristics  that  distinguish  a  virile  race 
which  encounters  difficulty  with  stalwart  courage  and 
confronts  danger  with  an  unruffled  mind.  It  is  the  poe- 
try of  strength  and  manly  self-reliance.  There  is  not  a 
plaint  of  weakness  anywhere  in  it.  It  is  inspired  from 
beginning  to  end  by  a  high  and  unfaltering  faith  in  the 
truth  of  the  doctrines  of  human  liberty  that  underlie  our 
entire  history  and  constitute  the  vital  principle  of  our 
institutions. 


preface  aiiD  ■ffntroDuctton 


The  ruder  poems  are  a  trifle  truculent  now  and  then 
perhaps,  but  some  little  truculence  may  be  allowed  as  a 
poetic  license  to  the  poet  who  siugs  of  his  countrymen's 
prowess  in  just  wars.  In  preparing  this  little  collection 
the  editor  has  had  occasion  to  read  anew  the  entire  body 
of  American  war  poetry  of  the  ballad  and  lyric  class,  and 
he  ends  the  examination  with  a  feeling  of  intense  satis- 
faction in  the  knowledge  that  there  is  not  an  unmanly  or 
a  cowardly  line  in  it  and  scarcely  an  ungenerous  one. 


i^yf^ 


"'If//-    . 


I.OVKWELIv'vS  FICxHT. 

[This  ballad,  written  in  1725,  soon  after  the  battle  of 
May  8th,  in  that  year,  was  said  by  a  contemporary  writer 
to  be  ''the  most  beloved  song  in  all  New  England," 
though  "  Chevy  Chace  "  had  been  known  there  almost  as 
well  as  in  old  England.  The  name  of  the  author  is  lost  to 
us,  but  his  work  has  been  preserved  in  Penhallow's  "His- 
tory of  the  Wars  of  New  England  with  the  Eastern  In- 
dians," 1726.  The  ballad  is  rude  and  destitute  of  poetic 
quality  ;  but  it  has  extraordinary  interest  as  the  earliest 
American  war  ballad  known  to  us  as  having  been  dear  to 
the  hearts  of  the  people  who  sang  or  recited  it.  It  has 
interest,  also,  as  a  reflection  of  manners.  The  commen- 
dation bestowed  upon  the  chaplain  for  scalping  Indians 
as  well  as  killing  them  is  suggestive. — Editor.] 


13 


LOVEWELL'S  FIGHT. 

OF  worthy  Captain  Love  well,  I  purpose  now  to  sing, 
How  valiantly  he  served  his  country  and  his  king  ; 
He  and  his  valiant  soldiers  did  range  the  woods  full  wide, 
And  hardships  they  endured  to  quell  the  Indian's  pride. 

'T  was  nigh  unto  Pigwacket,  on  the  eighth  day  of  May, 
They  spied  a  rebel  Indian  soon  after  break  of  day  ; 
He  on  a  bank  was  walking,  upon  a  neck  of  land, 
Which  leads  into  a  pond  as  we  're  made  to  understand. 

14 


Xoveweirs  jFiGbt  15 

Our  men  resolved  to  have  him,  and  travelled  two  miles 

round, 
Until  the}'  met  the  Indian,  who  boldly  stood  his  ground  ; 
Then  up  speaks  Captain   Lovewell  :    "Take   you  good 

heed,"  says  he, 
"This  rogue  is  to  decoy  us,  I  very  plainly  see. 

"The  Indians  lie  in  ambush,  in  some  place  nigh  at  hand, 
In  order  to  surround  us  upon  this  neck  of  land  ; 
Therefore  we  '11  march  in  order,  and  each  man  leave  his 

pack  ; 
That  we  may  briskly  fight  them,  when  they  make  their 

attack." 

They  came  unto  this  Indian,  who  did  them  thus  defy. 
As  soon  as  they  came  nigh  him,  two  guns  he  did  let  fly, 
Which  wounded  Captain  Lovewell,  and  likewise  one  man 

more. 
But  when  this  rogue  was  running,  they  laid  him  in  his 

gore. 

Then  having  scalped  the  Indian,  they  went  back  to  the 

spot 
Where  they  had  laid  their  packs  down,  but  there  they 

found  them  not. 
For  the  Indians  having  spied  them,    when   they  them 

down  did  lay. 
Did  seize  them  for  their  plunder,  and  carry  them  away. 


i6  Xovcwcirs  jFicjbt 

These  rebels  lay  in  ambush,  this  very  place  hard  by, 

So  that  an  English  soldier  did  one  of  them  esj)y, 

And  cried  out,    "  Here  's  an   Indian  "  !  with  that   they 

started  out. 
As  fiercely  as  old  lions,  and  hideously  did  shout. 

With  that  our  valiant  English  all  gave  a  loud  huzza, 
To  show  the  rebel  Indians  they  feared  them  not  a  straw  : 
So  now  the  fight  began,  and  as  fiercely  as  could  be. 
The  Indians  ran  up  to  them,  but  soon  were  forced  to  flee. 

Then  spake  up  Captain  Lovewell,  when  first  the   fight 

began  : 
"  Fight  on,  my  valiant  heroes!     You  see  they  fall  like 

rain." 
For  as  we  are  informed,  the  Indians  were  so  thick 
A  man  could  scarcely  fire  a  gun  and  not  some  of  them  hit. 

Then  did  the  rebels  try  their  best  our  soldiers  to  sur- 
round, 

But  they  could  not  accomplish  it,  because  there  Wiis  a 
pond, 

To  which  our  men  retreated,  and  covered  all  the  rear. 

The  rogues  were  forced  to  face  them,  although  they 
skulked  for  fear. 

Two  logs  there  were  behind  them  that  close  together  lay, 
Without  being  discovered,  they  could  not  get  away  ; 


Xoveweirs  ^igbt  17 

Therefore  our  valiant  English  they  travelled  in  a  row, 
And  at  a  handsome  distance,  as  they  were  wont  to  go. 

'T  was  ten  o'clock  in  the  morning  when   first  the  fight 

begun, 
And  fiercely  did  continue  until  the  setting  sun  ; 
Excepting   that  the  Indians  some  hours    before  't  was 

night 
Drew  off  into  the  bushes  and  ceased  awhile  to  fight. 

But  soon  again  returned,  in  fierce  and  furious  mood. 
Shouting  as  in  the  morning,  but  yet  not  half  so  loud  ; 
For  as  we  are  informed,  so  thick  and  fast  they  fell, 
Scarce  twenty  of  their  number  at  night  did  get  home 
well. 

And  that  our  valiant  English  till  midnight  there  did  stay, 
To  see  whether  the  rebels  would  have  another  fray  ; 
But  they  no  more  returning,  they  made  off  towards  tlieii 

home, 
And  brought  away  their  wounded  as  far  as  they  could 

come. 

Of  all  our  valiant  English  there  were  but  thirty-four, 
And  of  the  rebel  Indians  there  were  about  fourscore, 
And  sixteen  of  our  English  did  safely  home  return, 
The  rest  were  killed  and  w^ounded,  for  which  we  all  must 
mourn. 


i8  Xorcwcll't?  jFuiht 

Our  worthy  Captain  Lovewcll  among  them  there  did  die, 
They  killed    Lieutenant  Robbins,    ami    wounded    good 

young  I'rye, 
Who  was  our  ICnglish  chaphiin  ;  he  many  Indians  slew, 
And  some  of  them  he  scalped   when   bullets  round  him 

flew. 

Young  Inillam,  too,  I  '11  mention,  l^ecause  he  fought  so 
well, 

Kndeavoring  to  save  a  man,  a  sacrifice  he  fell : 

But  vet  our  valiant  luiglishmen  in  fight  were  ne'er  dis- 
mayed, 

But  still  they  kept  their  motion,  and  Wymans  captain 
made, 

Who  shot  the  old  chief  Pagus,  which  did  the  foe  defeat, 
Then  set  his  men  in  order,  and  l)rought  ofTthe  retreat; 
And  braving  many  dangers  and  hardships  in  the  way, 
They  safe  arrived  at  Dunstable,  the  thirteenth  day  ot 
Mav. 


THE  SONG  OF  BRADDOCK'S 
MEN. 


Fort  Duyiicsne  Ivxpedition.  1755. 

0  arms,   to    arms!    my  jolly  grena- 
diers ! 
Hark  bow  the  drums  do  roll  it  along  ! 
To  horse,   to  horse,  with  valiant  good 
cheer  ; 

We  '11  meet  our  proud  foe  before  it  is  long. 
Let  not  your  courage  fail  you  ; 
Be  valiant,  stout,  and  bold  ; 
And  it  will  soon  avail  you, 
My  loyal  hearts  of  gold. 
Huzzah,  my  valiant  countr>-men  ! — again  I  say  huzzah  ! 
'T  is  nobly  done, — the  day  's  our  own — huzzah,  huzzah  ! 


20  XTbe  Qom  of  3BraDC>ocft*s  /Ren 


March  on,  march  on,  brave  Braddock  leads  the  foremost ; 

The  battle  is  begun  as  you  may  fairly  see. 
Stand  firm,  be  bold,  and  it  will  soon  be  over  ; 
We  '11  soon  gain  the  field  from  our  proud  enemy 

A  squadron  now  appears,  my  boys  ; 

If  that  they  do  but  stand  ! 

Boys,  never  fear,  be  sure  you  mind 

The  word  of  command  ! 
Huzzah,  my  valiant  countrymen  ! — aj^ain  I  say  liuzzah  i 
'Tis  nobly  done, — the  day  's  our  own — huzzah,  huzzah  : 

See  how,  see  how,  they  break  and  fly  before  us  ! 
See  how  they  are  scattered  all  over  the  plain  ! 
Now,  now — now,  now,  our  country  will  adore  us  ! 

In  peace  and  in  triumph,  boys,  when  we  return  again  . 

Then  laurels  shall  our  glory  crown 

For  all  our  actions  told  : 

The  hills  ^all  echo  all  around, 

My  loyal  hearts  of  gold. 
Huzzah,  my  valiant  countrymen  ! — again  I  say  huzzah  ! 
'Tis  nobly  done, — the  day  's  our  own — huzzah,  huzzah  ! 


LIBERTY  TREE. 

By  THOMAS  PAINE. 

(Published  in  the  Pennsylvania  Magazine,  1775.) 

IN  a  chariot  of  light  from  the  regions  of  day, 
The  Goddess  of  Liberty  came  ; 
Ten  thousand  celestials  directed  the  way, 

And  hither  conducted  the  dame. 
A  fair  budding  branch  from  the  gardens  above, 

Where  millions  with  millions  agree, 
She  brought  in  her  hand  as  a  pledge  of  her  love. 
And  the  plant  she  named  Liberty  Tree. 

The  celestial  exotic  struck  deep  in  the  ground, 

Like  a  native  it  flourished  and  bore  ; 
The  fame  of  its  fruit  drew  the  nations  around, 

To  seek  out  this  peaceable  shore. 
Unmindful  of  names  or  distinction  they  came. 

For  freemen  like  brothers  agree  ; 
With  one  spirit  endued,  they  one  friendship  pursued, 

And  their  temple  was  Liberty  Tree. 

23 


XibcrtB  Cree 


Beneath  this  fair  tree,  like  the  patriarchs  of  okl, 

Their  bread  in  contentment  they  ate, 
Unvexed  with  the  troubles  of  silver  and  gold, 

The  cares  of  the  grand  and  the  great. 
With  timber  and  tar  they  Old  England  supplied, 

And  supported  her  power  on  the  sea  ; 
Her  battles  they  fought,  without  getting  a  groat, 

For  the  honor  of  Liberty  Tree. 

But  hear,  O  ye  swains,  't  is  a  tale  most  profane, 

How  all  the  tyrannical  powers, 
Kings,  Commons,  and  Lords,  are  uniting  amain^ 

To  cut  down  this  guardian  of  ours  ; 
From  the  east  to  the  west  blow  the  trumpet  to  arms. 

Through  the  land  let  the  sound  of  it  flee, 
Let  the  far  and  the  near,  all  unite  with  a  cheer. 

In  defence  of  our  Liberty  Tree. 


FREE  AMERICA. 

[This  poem  first  appeared  in  the  newspapers  in  1774, 
and  was  ascribed  to  Joseph  Warren. — Editor.] 

THAT  sep^  of  Science,  Athens, 
And  earth's  proud  mistress,  Rome  ; 
'NVhere  now  are  all  their  glories  ? 
We  scarce  can  find  a  tomb. 
Then  guard  your  rights,  Americans, 
Nor  stoop  to  lawless  sway  ; 
Oppose,  oppose,  oppose,  oppose, 
For  North  America. 

We  led  fair  Freedom  hither, 
And  lo,  the  desert  smiled  ! 
A  paradise  of  pleasure 
Was  opened  in  the  wild  ! 
Your  harvest,  bold  Americans, 
No  power  shall  snatch  away  ! 
Huzza,  huzza,  huzza,  huzza, 
For  free  America. 

25 


•^o  3Free  Bmcrfca 


Toru  from  a  world  of  tyrants, 
Beneath  this  western  sky, 
We  formed  a  new  dominion, 
A  land  of  liberty  : 

The  world  shall  own  we  're  masters  here 
Then  hasten  on  the  day  : 
Huzza,  huzza,  huzza,  huzza, 
For  free  America. 

Proud  Albion  bowed  to  Caesar, 
And  numerous  lords  before  ; 
To  Picts,  to  Danes,  to  Normans, 
And  many  masters  more  : 
But  we  can  boast,  Americans, 
We  've  never  fallen  a  prey  ; 
Huzza,  huzza,  huzza,  huzza, 
For  free  America. 

God  bless  this  maiden  climate, 
And  through  its  vast  domain 
May  hosts  of  heroes  cluster. 
Who  scorn  to  wear  a  chain  : 
And  blast  the  venal  sycophant 
That  dares  our  rights  betray  ; 
Huzza,  huzza,  huzza,  huzza. 
For  free  America. 


Lift  up  your  hands,  ye  heroes, 
And  swear  with  proud  disdain. 


ifree  Bmerica  27 


The  wretch  that  would  ensnare  you, 
Shall  lay  his  snares  in  vain  : 
Should  Burope  empty  all  her  force, 
We  '11  meet  her  in  array, 
And  fight  and  shout,  and  shout  and  fight 
For  North  America. 

Some  future  day  shall  crown  us. 
The  masters  of  the  main. 
Our  fleets  shall  speak  in  thunder 
To  England,  France,  and  Spain  ; 
And  the  nations  over  the  ocean  spread 
Shall  tremble  and  obey 
The  sons,  the  sons,  the  sons,  the  sons, 
Of  brave  America. 


EMANCIPATION   FROM   BRITISH   DEPENDENCE. 

By   PHILIP   FRENEAU. 

[The  following  note  explanatory  of  references  to 
proper  names,  etc.,  in  this  poem  is  copied  from  Duyc- 
kinck's  edition  of  Freneau. — Editor.] 


Note. — Sir  James  Wallace,  Admiral  Graves,  and  Cap- 
tain Montague,  were  British  naval  officers,  employed 
on  our  coast.  The  Viper  and  Rose  were  vessels  in  the 
service.  Lord  Dunmore,  the  last  royal  governor  of  Vir- 
ginia, had  recently,  in  April,  1775,  removed  the  public 
stores  from  Williamsburg,  and,  in  conjunction  with  a 
party  of  adherents,  supported  by  the  naval  force  on 
the  station,  was  making  war  on  the  province.  William 
Tryon,  the  last  Royal  governor  of  New  York,  informed 
of  a  resolution  of  the  Continental  Congress:  "That  it 
be  recommended  to  the  several  provincial  assemblies 
in  conventions  and  councils,  or  committees  of  safety, 
to    arrest   and   secure   every  person    in   their  respective 

2§ 


Emancipation  trom  :©riti6b  Dependence      29 

colonies  whose  going  at  large  may,  in  their  opinion, 
endanger  the  safety  of  the  colony  or  the  liberties  of 
America,"  discerning  the  signs  of  the  times,  took  refuge 
on  board  the  Halifax  packet  in  the  harbor,  and  left  the 
city  in  the  middle  of  October,  1775. 


EMAXCirATION   FRO]\I    BRITISH   DEPENDENCE. 

By  PHILIP  FRENEAU. 

Libera  nos,  Domine — Deliver  us,  O  Lord, 
Not  only  from  British  dependence,  but  also, 

FRO^NI  a  junto  that  labor  for  absolute  power, 
Whose  schemes  disappointed  have  made  them  look 
sour  ; 
From  the  lords  of  the  council,  who  fight  against  freedom 
Who  still  follow  on  where  delusion  shall  lead  'em. 

From  groups  at  St.  James's  who  slight  our  Petitions, 
And  fools  that  are  waiting  for  further  submissions  ; 
From  a  nation  whose  manners  are  rough  and  abrupt. 
From  scoundrels  and  rascals  whom  gold  can  corrupt. 

From  pirates  sent  out  by  command  of  the  king 
To  murder  and  plunder,  but  never  to  swing  ; 
From  Wallace,  and  Graves,  and  Vipers^  and  Roses, 
Whom,  if  Heaven  pleases,  we  '11  give  bloody  noses. 

From  the  valiant  Dunmore,  with  his  crew  of  banditti 
Who  plunder  Virginians  at  Williamsburg  city, 
From  hot-headed  Montague,  mighty  to  swear. 
The  little  fat  man  with  his  pretty  white  hair. 
30 


j6manc(pat(on  from  JSritieb  Dependence     31 


From  bishops  iu  Britain,  who  butchers  are  grown, 
From  slaves  that  woukl  die  for  a  smile  from  the  throne, 
From  assemblies  that  vote  against  Congress'  proceedings, 
(Who  now  see  the  fruit  of  their  stupid  misleadings). 

From  Tryon,  the  mighty,  who  flies  from  our  city, 
And  swelled  with  importance,  disdains  the  committee ; 
(But  since  he  is  pleased  to  proclaim  us  his  foes. 
What  the  devil  care  we  where  the  devil  he  goes.) 

From   the   caitiff,   Lord  North,  who  would  bind  us   in 

chains. 
From  our  noble  King  Log,  with  his  toothful  of  brains, 
Who  dreams,  and  is  certain  (when  taking  a  nap) 
He  has  conquered  our  lands  as  they  lay  on  his  map. 

From  a  kingdom  that  bullies,  and  hectors,  and  swears, 
I  send  up  to  Heaven  my  wishes  and  prayers 
That  we,  disunited,  may  freemen  be  still, 
And  Britain  go  on — to  be  damn'd  if  she  will. 

1775 


PAUL   REVERE'vS   RIDE. 

BY  HF.NRY  WADSWORTH  LONGFP:IvI.OW. 

LISTEN,  my  children,  and  you  shall  hear 
Of  the  midnight  ride  of  Paul  Revere, 
On  the  eighteenth  of  April,  in  vSeventy-five  ; 
Hardly  a  man  is  now  alive 
Who  remembers  that  famous  day  and  year. 

He  said  to  his  friend  :  "  If  the  British  march 
By  land  or  sea  from  the  town  to-night. 
Hang  a  lantern  aloft  in  the  belfry  arch 
Of  the  North  Church  tower  as  a  signal  light,— 
One,  if  by  land,  and  two,  if  by  sea  ; 
And  I  on  the  opposite  shore  will  be, 
Ready  to  ride  and  spread  the  alarm 
Through  every  Middlesex  village  and  farm, 
For  the  country  folk  to  be  up  and  to  arm." 

Then  he  said  "  Good-night,"  and  with  muffled  oar 
Silently  row'd  to  the  Charlestown  shore, 
Just  as  the  moon  rose  over  the  bay, 
Where  swinging  wide  at  her  moorings  lay 
32 


Paul  TRevere's  IRtDc 


i^ 


The  Somerset,  British  man-of-war  ; 

A  phantom  ship,  with  each  mast  and  spar 

Across  the  moon  like  a  prison  bar, 

And  a  huge  black  hulk,  that  was  magnified 

By  its  own  reflection  in  the  tide. 


34  Paul  IRerere's  lRit>e 

Meanwhile  his  friend,  through  alley  and  street, 
Wanders  and  watches  with  eager  ears, 
Till  in  the  silence  around  him  he  hears 
The  muster  of  men  at  the  barrack-door, 
The  sound  of  arms,  and  the  tramp  of  feet, 
And  the  measured  tread  of  the  grenadiers 
Marching  down  to  their  boats  on  the  shore. 

Then  he  clim'd  the  tower  of  the  Old  North  Church. 

By  the  wooden  stairs,  with  stealthy  tread. 

To  the  belfry-chamber  overhead, 

And  startled  the  pigeons  from  their  perch 

On  the  sombre  rafters,  that  round  him  made 

Masses  and  moving  shapes  of  shade, — 

By  the  trembling  ladder,  steep  and  tall. 

To  the  highest  window  in  the  wall. 

Where  he  paused  to  listen  and  look  down 

A  moment  on  the  roofs  of  the  town. 

And  the  moonlight  flowing  over  all. 

Beneath,  in  the  churchyard  lay  the  dead. 
In  their  night-encampment  on  the  hill, 
Wrapp'd  in  silence  so  deep  and  still 
That  he  could  hear,  like  a  sentinel's  tread. 
The  watchful  night-wind,  as  it  went 
Creeping  along  from  tent  to  tent. 
And  seeming  to  whisper,  *'  All  is  well  !  " 
A  moment  only  he  feels  the  spell 


Paul  IRcverc'5  1Rit>c  35 

Of  the  place  and  the  hour,  and  the  secret  dread 

Of  the  lonely  belfry  and  the  dead  ; 

For  suddenly  all  his  thoughts  are  bent 

On  a  shadowy  something  far  away, 

Where  the  river  widens  to  meet  the  bay, — 

Aline  of  black  that  bends  and  floats 

On  the  rising  tide  like  a  bridge  of  boats. 

Meanwhile,  impatient  to  mount  and  ride. 

Booted  and  spurr'd,  with  a  heavy  stride 

On  the  opposite  s"hore  walk'd  Paul  Revere. 

Now  he  patted  his  horse's  side, 

Now  gazed  at  the  landscape  far  and  near. 

Then,  impetuous,  stamp'd  the  earth. 

And  turn'd  and  tighten'd  his  saddle-girth  ; 

But  mostly  he  watch' d  with  eager  search  * 

The  belfry-tower  of  the  Old  North  Church, 

As  it  rose  above  the  graves  on  the  hill. 

Lonely  and  spectral  and  sombre  and  still. 

And  lo  !  as  he  looks,  on  the  belfry's  height 

A  glimmer,  and  then  a  gleam  of  light ! 

He  springs  to  the  saddle,  the  bridle  he  turns, 

But  lingers  and  gazes,  till  full  on  his  sight 

A  second  lamp  in  the  belfry  burns. 

A  hurry  of  hoofs  in  a  village  street, 
A  shape  in  the  moonlight,  a  bulk  in  the  dark, 
And  beneath,  from  the  pebbles,  in  passing  a  spark 
Struck  out  by  a  steed  flying  fearless  and  fleet  ; 


36  Paul  IRcverc'6  IRfOe 


That  was  all  ;  and  yet,  through  the  gloom  and  the  light 
The  fate  of  a  nation  was  riding  that  night ; 
And  the  spark  struck  out  by  that  steed  in  his  flight 
Kindled  the  land  into  flame  with  its  heat. 

He  has  left  the  village  and  mounted  the  steep, 
And  beneath  him,  tranquil  and  broad  and  deep, 
Is  the  Mystic,  meeting  the  ocean  tides, 
And  under  the  alders  that  skirt  its  edge. 
Now  soft  on  the  sand,  now  loud  on  the  ledge. 
Is  heard  the  tramp  of  his  steed  as  he  rides. 
It  was  twelve  by  the  village  clock 
When  he  cross'd  the  bridge  into  Medford  town. 
He  heard  the  crowing  of  the  cock. 
And  the  barking  of  the  farmer's  dog. 
And  felt  the  damp  of  the  river's  fog. 
That  rises  after  the  sun  goes  down. 

It  was  one  by  the  village  clock 

When  he  galloped  into  Lexington. 

He  saw  the  gilded  weathercock 

Swim  in  the  moonlight  as  he  pass'd. 

And  the  meeting-house  windows,  blank  and  bare, 

Gaze  at  him  with  spectral  glare, 

As  if  they  already  stood  aghast 

At  the  bloody  work  they  would  look  upon. 

It  was  two  by  the  village  clock 


Paul  1Rcv>ere*6  IRiOe  37 


He  heard  the  bleating  of  the  flock, 
And  the  twitter  of  birds  among  the  trees, 
And  felt  the  breath  of  the  morning  breeze 
Blowing  over  the  meadows  brown. 
And  one  was  safe  and  asleep  in  his  bed 
Who  at  the  bridge  would  be  first  to  fall, 
Who  that  day  would  be  lying  dead, 
Pierced  by  a  British  musket-ball. 

You  know  the  rest  :  in  the  books  you  have  read, 
How  the  British  regulars  fired  and  fled, — 
How  the  farmers  gave  them  ball  for  ball. 
From  behind  each  fence  and  farmyard  wall, 
Chasing  the  red-coats  down  the  lane. 
Then  crossing  the  fields  to  emerge  again 
Under  the  trees  at  the  turn  of  the  road. 
And  only  pausing  to  fire  and  load. 

So  through  the  night  rode  Paul  Revere, 

And  so  through  the  night  went  his  cry  of  alarm 

To  every  Middlesex  village  and  farm, — 

A  cry  of  defiance,  and  not  of  fear, 

A  voice  in  the  darkness,  a  knock  at  the  door, 

And  a  word  that  shall  echo  for  evermore  ! 

For,  borne  on  the  night-wind  of  the  past, 

Through  all  our  history  to  the  last, 

In  the  hour  of  darkness,  and  peril,  and  need, 

The  people  will  waken  and  listen  to  hear 

The  hurrying  hoof-beats  of  that  steed. 

And  the  midnight  message  of  Paul  Revere. 


WARREN'S   ADDRESS. 

By  JOHN  PIERPONT. 

STAND  !  the  ground  's  your  own,  m\'  braves  ! 
Will  ye  give  it  up  to  slaves  ? 
Will  ye  look  for  greener  graves? 

Hope  ye  mercy  still  ? 
What 's  the  mercy  despots  feel  ? 
Hear  it  in  that  battle  peal ! 
Read  it  on  yon  bristling  steel  ! 
Ask  it, — ye  who  will. 

Fear  ye  foes  who  kill  for  hire  ? 
Will  ye  to  your  homes  retire  ? 
Look  behind  you  ! — thty  're  afire  ! 

And,  before  you,  see 
Who  have  done  it !     From  the  vale 
On  they  come  ! — and  will  ye  quail  ? 
Leaden  rain  and  iron  hail 

Let  their  welcome  be  ! 

In  the  God  of  battles  trust ! 
Die  we  may, — and  die  we  must : 

38 


TKHarren*0  BD^rcee 


39 


But,  oh  where  can  dust  to  dust 

Be  consign 'd  so  well, 
As  where  Heaven  its  dews  shall  shed 
On  the  martyr' d  patriot's  bed. 
And  the  rocks  shall  raise  their  head 

Of  his  deeds  to  tell  ? 


T 


NATHAN   HALE. 

Bv  FRANCIS  M.  FINCH. 

O  drum-beat  and  heart-beat, 


There  is  color  in  his  cheek, 
There  is  courage  in  his  eye. 

Yet  to  drum-beat  and  heart-beat 
In  a  moment  he  nmst  die. 

By  starlight  and  moonlight, 
He  seeks  the  Briton's  camp  ; 

H::  hears  the  rustling  flag, 
And  the  armed  sentry's  tramp  ; 

And  the  starlight  and  moonlight 
His  silent  wanderings  lamp. 

With  slow  tread  and  still  tread> 
He  scans  the  tented  line  ; 

And  he  counts  the  battery  guns, 
By  the  gaunt  and  shadowy  pine 

And  his  slow  tread  and  still  tread 
Gives  no  warning  sign. 
40 


IKlatban  1f3ale  4i 


The  dark  wave,  the  plumed  wave 
It  meets  his  eager  glance  ; 

And  it  sparkles  'neath  the  stars, 
Like  the  glimmer  of  a  lance — 

A  dark  wave,  a  plumed  wave, 
On  an  emerald  expanse. 

A  sharp  clang,  a  still  clang, 

And  terror  in  the  sound  ! 
For  the  sentry,  falcon-eyed, 

In  the  camp  a  spy  hath  found  ; 
With  a  sharp  clang,  a  steel  clang, 

The  patriot  is  bound. 

With  calm  brow,  steady  brow,. 

He  listens  to  his  doom  ; 
In  his  look  there  is  no  fear, 

Nor  a  shadow-trace  of  gloom  ; 
But  with  calm  brow  and  steady  brov. 

He  robes  him  for  the  tomb. 


In  the  long  night,  the  still  night, 
He  kneels  upon  the  sod  ; 

And  the  brutal  guards  withhold 
E'en  the  solemn  word  of  God  ! 

In  the  long  night,  the  still  night. 
He  walks  where  Christ  hath  trod. 


"Hatban  l)ale 


'Neath  the  blue  mom,  the  sunny  mom, 

He  dies  upon  the  tree  ; 
And  he  mourns  that  he  can  lose 

But  one  life  for  Libert}-  ; 
And  in  the  blue  morn,  the  sunny  morn. 

His  spent  wings  are  free. 

But  his  last  words,  his  message-words, 
They  bum,  lest  friendly  eye 

Should  read  how  proud  and  calm 
A  patriot  could  die. 

With  his  last  words,  his  dying  words, 
A  soldier's  battle-cry. 

From  Fame-leaf  and  Angel-leaf, 

From  monument  and  urn, 
The  sad  of  earth,  the  glad  of  heaven. 

His  tragic  fate  shall  learn  ; 
And  on  Fame-leaf  and  Angel-leaf 

The  name  of  Hale  shall  bum  ! 


THE  BALLAD  OF  NATHAN  HALE. 

(Moore's  "Songs  and  Ballads  of  the  American  Revolution."  1856.) 

THE  breezes  went  steadily  through  the  tall  pines, 
A-saying  *'  oh  !  hu-ush  !  "  a-saying  "  oh  !  hu-ush  !  " 
As  stilly  stole  by  a  bold  legion  of  horse, 
For  Hale  in  the  bush,  for  Hale  in  the  bush. 

"  Keep  still  !  "  said  the  thrush  as  she  nestled  her  young 
In  a  nest  by  the  road  ;  in  a  nest  by  the  road. 
"  For  the  tyrants  are  near,  and  with  them  appear 
What  bodes  us  no  good,  what  bodes  us  no  good," 

The  brave  captain  heard  It,  and  thought  of  his  home 
In  a  cot  by  the  brook  ;  in  a  cot  by  the  brook. 
With  mother  and  sister  and  memories  dear. 
He  so  gayly  forsook  ;  he  so  gayly  forsook. 

43 


44  ^be  JBallat)  of  *latban  t)ale 


Cooling  shades  of  the  uight  were  coming  apace, 
The  tattoo  had  beat ;  the  tattoo  had  beat. 
The  noble  one  sprang  from  his  dark  lurking-place, 
To  make  his  retreat ;  to  make  his  retreat. 

He  warily  trod  on  the  dry  rustling  leaves. 

As  he  passed  through  the  wood,  as  he  passed  through  the 

wood  ; 
And  silently  gained  his  rude  launch  on  the  shore. 
As  she  played  with  the  flood  ;  as  she  played  with  the  flood 

The  guards  of  the  camp,  on  that  dark,  drear>'  night. 
Had  a  murderous  will  ;  bad  a  murderous  will. 
They  took  him  and  bore  him  afar  from  the  shore. 
To  a  hut  on  the  hill  ;  to  a  hut  on  the  hill. 

No  mother  was  there,  nor  a  friend  who  could  cheer. 
In  that  little  stone  cell  ;  in  that  little  stone  cell. 
But  he  trusted  in  love,  from  his  Father  above, 
In  his  heart,  all  was  well  ;  in  his  heart,  all  was  well. 

An  ominous  owl,  with  his  solemn  bass  voice. 
Sat  moaning  hard  by  ;  sat  moaning  hard  by  : 
"The  tyrant's  proud  minions  most  gladly  rejoice, 
For  he  soon  must  die ;  for  he  soon  must  die." 

The  brave  fellow  told  them,  no  thing  he  restrained, — 
The  cruel  general !  the  cruel  general  ! — 
His  errand  from  camp,  of  the  ends  to  be  gained, 
And  said  that  was  all ;  and  said  that  was  all. 


XLbe  JBallaD  of  Batban  1bafc  45 

They  took  liiiii  and  bound  him  and  bore  him  away, 
Down  the  hill's  grassy  side  ;  down  the  hill's  grassy  side. 
'T  was  there  the  base  hirelings,  iu  royal  array. 
His  cause  did  deride  ;  his  cause  did  deride. 

Five  minutes  were  given,  short  moments,  no  more, 
For  him  to  repent  ;  for  him  to  repent. 
He  prayed  for  his  mother,  he  asked  not  another. 
To  Heaven  he  went ;  to  Heaven  he  went. 

The  faith  of  a  martyr  the  tragedy  showed, 
As  he  trod  the  last  stage  ;  as  he  trod  the  last  stage. 
And  Britons  will  shudder  at  gallant  Hale's  blood 
As  his  words  do  presage,  as  his  words  do  presage. 

"  Thou  pale  king  of  terrors,  thou  life's  gloomy  foe, 
Go  frighten  the  slave  ;  go  frighten  the  slave  ; 
Tell  tyrants,  to  you  their  allegiance  they  owe. 
No  fears  for  the  brave  ;  no  fears  for  the  brave." 


ON  Christmas-day  iu  seventy -six, 
Our  ragged  troops,  with  bay- 
onets fixed, 
For  Trenton  marched  away. 
The  Delaware  see !  the  boats  below ! 
The    light  obscured  by   hail   and 


But  no  signs  of  dismay 


Our  object  was  the  Hessian  band. 
That  dared  invade  fair  freedom's  land, 

And  quarter  in  that  place. 
Great  Washington  he  led  us  on. 
Whose  streaming  flag,  in  storm  or  sun, 

Had  never  known  disgrace. 


XLbc  JBattle  of  tTrenton  47 

In  silent  march  we  passed  the  night, 
Each  soldier  panting  for  the  fight, 

Though  quite  benumbed  with  frost. 
Greene  on  the  left  at  six  began, 
The  right  was  led  by  Sullivan 

Who  ne'er  a  moment  lost. 

Their  pickets  stormed,  the  alarm  was  spread, 
That  rebels  risen  from  the  dead 

Were  marching  into  town. 
Some  scampered  here,  some  scampered  there, 
And  some  for  action  did  prepare  ; 

But  soon  their  arms  laid  down. 

Twelve  hundred  servile  miscreants. 
With  all  their  colors,  guns,  and  tents, 

Were  trophies  of  the  day. 
The  frolic  o'er,  the  bright  canteen, 
In  centre,  front,  and  rear  was  seen 

Driving  fatigue  away. 

Now,  brothers  of  the  patriot  bands, 
Let 's  sing  deliverance  from  the  hands 

Of  arbitrary  sway. 
A.nd  as  our  life  is  but  a  span, 
iet  's  touch  the  tankard  while  we  can, 

In  memory  of  that  day. 


(From  Griswold's  "  Curiosities  of  American  Iviterature.") 

WHEN  Jack  the  king's  commander 
Was  going  to  his  duty, 
Through  all  the  crowd  he  smiled  and  bowed 
To  everj'  blooming  beauty. 

48 


Zbc  ^ate  of  Jobn  JBurgogne  49 

The  city  rung  with  feats  he  'd  done 

In  Portugal  and  Flanders, 

And  all  the  town  thought  he'd  be  crowned 

The  first  of  Alexanders. 

To  Hampton  Court  he  first  repairs 
To  kiss  great  George's  hand,  sirs  ; 
Then  to  harangue  on  state  affairs 
Before  he  left  the  land,  sirs. 

The  "  Lower  House"  sat  mute  as  mouse 
To  hear  his  grand  oration  ; 
And  "all  the  peers,"  with  loudest  cheers. 
Proclaimed  him  to  the  nation. 

Then  off  he  went  to  Canada, 
Next  to  Ticonderoga, 
And  quitting  those  away  he  goes 
vStraightway  to  Saratoga. 

With  great  parade  his  march  he  made 
To  gain  his  wished-for  station, 
While  far  and  wide  his  minions  hied 
To  spread  his  "  Proclamation." 

To  such  as  stayed  he  offers  made 

Of  "pardon  on  submission  ; 

But  savage  bands  should  waste  the  lands 

Of  all  in  opposition." 


50  Ubc  3Fate  of  5obn  JBurcjognc 

But  ah,  the  cruel  fates  of  war  ! 
This  boasted  son  of  Britain, 
When  mounting  his  triumphal  car, 
With  sudden  fear  was  smitten. 

The  sons  of  Freedom  gathered  round. 

His  hostile  bands  confounded, 

And  when  they  'd  fain  have  turned  their  back 

They  found  themselves  surrounded  ! 

In  vain  they  fought,  in  vain  they  fled  ; 
Their  chief,  humane  and  tender, 
To  save  the  rest  soon  thought  it  best 
His  forces  to  surrender. 

Brave  St.  Clair,  when  he  first  retired, 
Knew  what  the  fates  portended  ; 
And  Arnold  and  heroic  Gates 
His  conduct  have  defended. 

Thus  may  America's  brave  sons 
With  honor  be  rewarded. 
And  be  the  fate  of  all  her  foes 
The  same  as  here  recorded. 


:iiii^Si^ii^i^' 


THE  PROGREvSS  OF  SIR  JACK  BRAG. 
(McCarty's  National  Song-Book.) 

SAID  Burgoyne  to  his  men,  as  they  passed  in  review, 
Tullalo,  tullalo,  tullalo,  boys ! 
These  rebels  their  course  very  quickly  will  rue, 
And  fly  as  the  leaves  'fore  the  autumn  tempest  flew, 
When  him  who  is  your  leader  they  know,  boys  ! 

They  with  men  have  now  to  deal, 

And  we  soon  will  make  them  feel — 

Tullalo,  tullalo,  tullalo,  boys ! 
That  a  loyal  Briton's  arm,  and  a  loyal  Briton's  steel. 
Can  put  to  flight  a  rebel,  as  quick  as  other  foe,  boys ! 

Tullalo,  tullalo,  tullalo, 

Tullalo,  tullalo,  tullalo-o-o-o,  boys  ! 


As  to  Sa-ra-tog'  he  came,  thinking  how  to  jo  the  game, 

Tullalo,  tullalo,  tullalo,  boys  ! 
He  began  to  see  the  grubs,  in  the  branches  of  his  fame, 
He  began  to  have  the  trembles,  lest  a  flash  should  be  the 
flame 


52  tlbc  progress  of  Sir  5acf;  JSraci 


For  which  he  had  agreed  his  perfume  to  forego,  boys  ! 

No  lack  of  skill,  but  fates, 

Shall  make  us  yield  to  Gates, 

Tullalo,  tullalo,  tullalo,  boys  ! 
The  devils  may  have  leagued,  as  you  know,   with  the 

States, 
But  we  never  will  be  beat  by  any  mortal  foe,  boys  ! 

Tullalo,  tullalo,  tullalo, 

Tullalo,  tullalo,  tullalo-o-o-o,  bovs  ! 


WAR    AND   WASHINGTON. 

(As  sung  during  the  Revolution.) 
By  JONATHAN  MITCHFXTv  SEWARD. 

VAIN  Britons,  boast  no  longer  with  proud  indignity, 
By  land  your  conquering  legions,  your  matchless 
strength  at  sea, 
Since  we,  your  braver  sons  incensed,  our  swords  have 

girded  on, 
Huzza,  huzza,  huzza,  huzza,  for  war  and  Washington. 

Urged  on  by  North  and  vengeance  those  valiant  cham- 
pions came. 

Loud  bellowing  Tea  and  Treason,  and  George  was  all  on 
flame, 

Yet  sacrilegious  as  it  seems,  we  rebels  still  live  on, 

And  laugh  at  all  their  empty  puffs,  huzza  for  Washington  ! 

Still  deaf  to  mild  entreaties,  still  blind  to  England's  good. 
You  have  for  thirty  pieces  betrayed  3'our  country's  blood. 
Like  Esop's  greed}'  cur  you'll  gain  a  shadow  for  your 

bone. 
Yet  find  us  fearful  shades  indeed  inspired  by  Washington, 

53 


54  Mar  anD  TIClasbinGton 

Mysterious  !  unexampled  !  incomprehensible ! 

The  blundering  schemes  of  Britain  their  folly,  pride,  and 
zeal, 

Like  lions  how  ye  growl  and  threat !  mere  asses  have 
you  shown. 

And  je  shall  share  an  ass's  fate,  and  drudge  for  Wash- 
ington ! 

Your  dark  unfathomed  councils  our  weakest  heads  defeat, 

Our  children  rout  your  armies,  our  boats  destroy  your 
fleet, 

And  to  complete  the  dire  disgrace,  cooped  up  within  a 
town, 

You  live  the  scorn  of  all  our  host,  the  slaves  of  Wash- 
ington ! 

Great    Heaven  !    is   this   the    nation    whose   thundering 

arms  were  hurled. 
Through  Europe,  Afric,  India  ?  whose  navy  ruled  a  world? 
The  lustre  of  your  former  deeds,  whole  ages  of  renown, 
Lost  in  a  moment,  or  transferred  to  us  and  Washington ! 

Yet  think  not   thirst  of  glory  unsheaths  our  vengeful 

swords 
To  rend  your  bauds  assunder,  or  cast  away  your  cords, 
'Tis  heaven-born  freedom  fires  us  all,   and  strengthens 

each  brave  sou, 
From  him  who  humbly  guides  the  plough,  to  god-like 

Washington. 


Mar  anO  Masbington  55 

For  this,  oh  could  our  wishes  your  ancient  rage  inspire, 

Your  armies  should  be  doubled,  in  numbers,  force,  and 
fire. 

Then  might  the  glorious  conflict  prove  which  best  de- 
served the  boon, 

America  or  Albion,  a  George  or  Washington  ! 

Fired  with  the  great  idea,  our  Fathers'  shades  would  rise, 
To  view  the  stern  contention,  the  gods  desert  their  skies ; 
And  Wolfe,  'midst  hosts  of  heroes,  superior  bending  down, 
Cry  out  with  eager  transport,  God  save  great  Washington  ! 

Should  George,  too  choice  of  Britons,  to  foreign  realms 
apply, 

And  madly  arm  half  Europe,  yet  still  we  would  defy 

Turk,  Hessian,  Jew,  and  Infidel,  or  all  those  powers  in 
one, 

While  Adams  guards  our  senate,  our  camp  great  Wash- 
ington ! 

Should  warlike  weapons  fail  us,  disdaining  slavish  fears, 

To  swords  we  '11  beat  our  ploughshares,  our  pruning- 
hooks  to  spears. 

And  rush,  all  desperate,  on  our  foe,  nor  breathe  till  battle 
won, 

Then  shout,  and  shout  America  !  and  conquering  Wash- 
ington ! 


56  mar  an^  'Uaaebuunou 

Proud  France   should   view   with    terror,    and   haughty 

Spain  revere, 
While  every  warlike  nation  would  court  alliance  here  ; 
And  George,  his  minions  trembling  round,  dismounting 

from  his  throne 
Pay  homage  to  America  and  glorious  Washington  ! 


COLUMBIA. 


By    timothy   UWIGHT. 


(^rom  Kettell's  "  Specimens,"  1829.      Written  during  the  author's 
service  as  an  aituy  chaplain,  1777-78.) 

COLrUMBIA,  Columbia,  to  glory  arise, 
The  queen  of  the  world,  and  the  child  of  the  skies; 
Thy  genius  commands  thee  ;  with  rapture  behold, 
While  ages  on  ages  thy  splendor  unfold, 
Thy  reign  is  the  last,  and  the  noblest  of  time. 
Most  fruitful  thy  soil  most  inviting  thy  clime  ; 
Let  the  crimes  of  the  east  ne'er  encrimson  thy  name, 
Be  freedom,  and  science,  and  virtue  thv  fame. 


To  conquest  and  slaughter  let  Europe  aspire  ; 
Whelm  nations  in  blood,  and  wrap  cities  in  fire  ; 
Thy  heroes  the  rights  of  mankind  shall  defend. 
And  triumph  pursue  them,  and  glory  attend, 
A  world  is  thy  realm  :  for  a  world  be  thy  laws. 
Enlarged  as  thine  empire,  and  just  as  thy  cause  ; 
On  Freedom's  broad  basis,  that  empire  shall  rise. 
Extend  with  the  main,  and  dissolve  with  the  skies. 

57 


58  Columbia 


Fair  science  her  gates  to  thy  sons  shall  unbar, 
And  the  east  see  the  morn  hide  the  beams  of  her  star. 
New  bards,  and  new  sages,  unrivalled  shall  soar 
To  fame  unextinguished,  when  time  is  no  more ; 
To  thee,  the  last  refuge  of  virtue  designed, 
vShall  fly  from  all  nations  the  best  of  mankind  ; 
Here,  grateful  to  heaven,  with  transport  shall  bring 
Their  incense,  more  fragrant  than  odors  of  spring. 


Nor  less  shall  thy  fair  ones  to  glory  ascend, 
And  genius  and  beauty  in  harmony  blend  ; 
The  graces  of  form  shall  awake  pure  desire. 
And  the  charms  of  the  soul  ever  cherish  the  fire ; 
Their  sweetness  unmingled,  their  manners  refined, 
And  virtue's  bright  image,  instamped  on  the  mind, 
With  peace  and  soft  rapture  shall  teach  life  to  glow, 
And  light  up  a  smile  in  the  aspect  of  woe. 


Thy  fleets  to  all  regions  thy  power  shall  display, 
The  nations  admire  and  the  ocean  obey  ; 
Each  shore  to  thy  glory  its  tribute  unfold, 
And  the  east  and  the  south  yield  their  spices  and  gold. 
As  the  day-spring  unbounded,  thy  splendor  shall  flow. 
And  earth's  little  kingdoms  before  thee  shall  bow  ; 
While  the  ensigns  of  union,  in  triumph  unfurled. 
Hush  the  tumult  of  war  and  give  peace  to  the  world. 


Columbia  59 


Thus,  as  dov/11  a  loue  valley,  with  cedars  o'erspread. 
From  war's  dread  confusion  I  pensively  strayed, 
The  gloom  from  the  face  of  fair  heaven  retired  ; 
The  winds  ceased  to  murmur  ;  the  thunders  expired  ; 
Perfumes  as  of  Eden  flowed  sweetly  along, 
And  a  voice  as  of  angels,  enchantingly  sung  : 
"  Columbia,  Columbia,  to  glory  arise, 
"The  queen  of  the  world,  and  the  child  of  the  skies.'' 


TAXATION  OF  AMERICA. 

By  peter  ST.  JOHN,  of  Xorw.alk,  Coxx. 

[In  Moore's  "  vSongs  and  Ballads  of  the  Revolution," 
this  poem  bears  date  as  of  1765,  but  the  references  in  it  to 
Burgoyne's  r.urrender,  to  Brandy  wine,  etc.,  indicate  a 
much  later  date.  It  is  possible  that  a  part  of  the  poem 
was  written  and  published  about  1765,  and  that  additions 
making  reference  to  revolutionar\-  incidents  were  made 
afterward.  But,  internal  evidence  renders  even  this 
assumption  improbable,  and  suggests  that  the  date 
Moore  gives  is  the  result  of  some  mistake. — Editor.'' 


WHILE  1  relate  my  story, 
Americans  give  ear  ; 
Of  Britain's  fading  glor}- 
You  presently  shall  hear  ; 
I  '11  give  a  true  relation, 
Attend  to  what  I  say 
Concerning  the  taxation 
Of  North  America. 
60 


^ajation  of  Bmerfca  6i 

The  cruel  lords  of  Britain, 
Who  glory  in  their  shame, 
The  project  they  have  hit  on 
They  joyfully  proclaim  ; 
'T  is  what  they  're  striving  after 
Our  right  to  take  away, 
And  rob  us  of  our  charter 
In  North  America. 

There  are  two  mighty  speakers. 

Who  rule  in  Parliament, 

Who  ever  have  been  seeking 

Some  mischief  to  invent ; 

'T  was  North,  and  Bute  his  father, 

The  horrid  plan  did  lay 

A  mighty  tax  to  gather 

In  North  America. 

They  searched  the  gloomy  regions 
Of  the  infernal  pit, 
To  find  among  their  legions 
One  who  excelled  in  wit  ; 
To  ask  of  him  assistance, 
Or  tell  them  how  they  may 
vSubdue  without  resistance 
This  North  America. 

Old  Satan  the  arch-traitor. 
Who  rules  the  burning  lake. 


62  {Taiatiou  ot  Bmccica 

Where  his  chief  navigator, 
Resolved  a  voyaj^e  to  take  ; 
For  the  Britanuic  ocean 
He  hiuuches  far  away, 
To  land  he  had  no  notion 
In  North  America. 

He  takes  his  seat  in  Britain, 

It  was  his  soul's  intent 

Great  George's  throne  to  sit  on. 

And  rule  the  Parliament  ; 

His  comrades  were  pursuing 

A  diabolic  way, 

For  to  complete  the  ruin 

Of  North  America. 

He  tried  the  art  of  nuigic 
To  bring  his  schemes  about, 
At  length  the  gloomy  project 
He  artfully  found  out  ; 
The  plan  was  long  indulged 
In  a  clandestine  way, 
But  lately  was  divulged 
In  North  America. 

These  subtle  arch-combiners 
Addressed  the  British  court, 
All  three  were  undersigners 
Of  this  obscure  report — 


^ajation  ot  Bmcrica  63 


There  is  a  pleasant  landscape 
That  lieth  far  away 
Beyond  the  wide  Atlantic, 
In  North  America. 

There  is  a  wealthy  people, 
Who  sojourn  in  that  land, 
Their  churches  all  with  steeples 
Most  delicately  stand : 
Their  houses  like  the  gilly, 
Are  painted  red  and  gay  : 
They  flourish  like  the  lily 
In  North  America. 

Their  land  with  milk  and  honey 
Continually  doth  flow, 
The  want  of  food  or  money 
They  seldom  ever  know  : 
They  heap  up  golden  treasure, 
They  have  no  debts  to  pay, 
They  spend  their  time  in  pleasure 
In  North  America. 

On  turkeys,  fowls,  and  fishes. 
Most  frequently  they  dine, 
With  gold  and  silver  dishes 
Their  tables  always  shine. 
They  crown  their  feasts  with  butter, 
They  eat,  and  rise  to  play  ; 


64  taxation  ot  Bmcrica 


In  silks  their  ladies  flutter, 
In  North  America, 

With  ^old  and  silver  laces 
They  do  them  elves  adorn, 
The  rubies  deck  their  faces. 
Refulgent  as  th    mom  : 
Wine  sparkle:,  in  their  glasses, 
They  spend  each  happy  day 
In  merriment  and  dances 
In  North  America. 

Let  not  our  suit  affront  you, 
When  we  address  your  throne; 
O  King,  this  wealthy  country 
And  subjects  are  your  own. 
And  you,  their  rightful  sovereign 
They  truly  must  obey, 
You  have  a  right  to  govern 
This  North  America. 

O  King,  you  've  heard  the  seque! 
Of  what  we  now  subscribe  : 
Is  it  not  just  and  equal 
To  tax  this  wealthy  tribe  ? 
The  question  being  asked, 
His  majesty  did  say. 
My  subjects  shall  be  taxed 
In  North  America. 


^ajation  ot  Bmerica  65 

Invested  with  a  warrant, 
My  publicans  shall  go, 
The  tenth  of  all  their  current 
They  surely  shall  bestow  ; 
If  they  indulge  rebellion, 
Or  from  my  precepts  stray, 
I  '11  send  my  war  battalion 
To  North  America. 

I  '11  rally  all  my  forces 
By  water  and  by  land, 
My  light  dragoons  and  horses 
Shall  go  at  my  command  ; 
I  '11  burn  both  town  and  city, 
With  smoke  becloud  the  day, 
I  '11  show  no  human  pity 
For  North  America. 

Go  on,  my  hearty  soldiers, 
You  need  not  fear  of  ill — 
There  's  Hutchinson  and  Rogers. 
Their  functions  will  fulfil — 
They  tell  such  ample  stories, 
Believe  them  sure  we  may, 
One  half  of  them  are  tories 
In  North  America. 

My  gallant  ships  are  ready 
To  waft  you  o'er  the  flood, 


66  Qiajation  ot  Bmcrica 

And  in  my  cause  be  steady, 
Which  is  supremely  good . 
Go  ravage,  steal,  and  plunder, 
And  you  shall  have  the  prey  ; 
They  quickly  will  kuock  under 
In  North  America. 

The  laws  I  have  enacted 
I  never  will  revoke, 
Although  they  are  neglected. 
My  fury  to  provoke. 
I  will  forbear  to  flatter, 
I  '11  rule  the  mighty  sway, 
I  '11  take  away  the  charter 
From  North  America. 

0  George  !  you  are  distracted, 
You  '11  by  experience  find 
The  laws  you  have  enacted 
Are  of  the  blackest  kind. 

1  '11  make  a  short  digression. 
And  tell  you  by  the  way, 
We  fear  not  your  oppression 
In  North  America. 

Our  fathers  were  distressed 
While  in  their  native  land  ; 
By  tyrants  were  oppressed 
As  we  do  understand  ; 


trajation  of  Bmcrica  67 


For  freedom  and  religion 
They  were  resolved  to  stray, 
And  trace  the  desert  regions 
Of  North  America. 

Heaven  was  their  sole  protector 
While  on  the  roaring  tide, 
Kind  fortune  their  director, 
And  providence  their  guide. 
If  I  am  not  mistaken, 
About  the  first  of  May, 
This  voyage  was  undertaken 
For  North  America. 

If  rightly  I  remember. 
This  country  to  explore, 
They  landed  in  November 
On  Plymouth's  desert  shore. 
The  savages  were  nettled. 
With  fear  they  fled  away. 
So  peaceably  they  settled 
In  North  America. 

We  are  their  bold  descendants. 
For  liberty  we  '11  fight. 
The  claim  to  independence 
We  challenge  as  our  right ; 
'T  is  w^hat  kind  Heaven  gave  us, 
Who  can  take  it  away  ? 


68  taxation  ot  Bmcrtca 

O  Heaven,  sure  it  will  save  us 
In  North  America. 

We  never  will  knock  under, 
O  George  !  we  do  not  fear 
The  rattling  of  your  thunder, 
Nor  lightning  of  your  spear  ; 
Though  rebels  you  declare  us, 
We  're  strangers  to  dismay  ; 
Therefore  you  cannot  scare  us 
In  North  America. 

To  what  you  have  commanded 
We  never  will  consent, 
Although  your  troops  are  landed 
Upon  our  continent  ; 
We  '11  take  our  swords  and  muskets 
And  march  in  dread  array, 
And  drive  the  British  red-coats 
From  North  America. 

We  have  a  bold  commander, 
Who  fears  not  sword  or  gun, 
The  second  Alexander, 
His  name  is  Washington. 
His  men  are  all  collected. 
And  ready  for  the  fray, 
To  fight  they  are  directed 
For  North  America, 


trajation  of  Bmcrlca  69 


We  've  Greene,  and  Gates,  and  Putnam, 

To  manage  in  the  field, 

A  gallant  train  of  footmen. 

Who  'd  rather  die  than  yield ; 

A  stately  troop  of  horsemen 

Trained  in  a  martial  way. 

For  to  augment  our  forces 

In  North  America. 

Proud  George,  you  are  engaged 
All  in  a  dirty  cause, 
A  cruel  war  have  waged 
Repugnant  to  all  laws. 
Go  tell  the  savage  nations 
You  're  crueler  than  they, 
To  fight  your  own  relations 
In  North  America. 

Ten  millions  you  've  expended, 
And  twice  ten  millions  more  ; 
Our  riches  you  intended 
Should  pay  the  mighty  score. 
Who  now  will  stand  your  sponsor, 
Your  charges  to  defray  ? 
For  sure  you  cannot  conquer 
This  North  America. 

I  '11  tell  you,  George,  in  metre, 
If  you  '11  attend  awhile  ; 


70  Cajatiou  of  america 

We  've  forced  your  bold  Sir  Peter 

From  Sullivan's  fair  isle. 

At  Monmouth,  too,  we  gained 

The  honors  of  the  day — 

The  \nctory  we  obtained 

For  North  America. 

Surely  we  were  your  betters 
Hard  by  the  Brandywine  ; 
We  laid  him  fast  in  fetters 
Whose  name  was  John  Burgoyne ; 
We  made  your  Howe  to  tremble 
With  terror  and  dismay  ; 
True  heroes  we  resemble. 
In  North  America. 

Confusion  to  the  tories. 

That  black  infernal  name 

In  which  Great  Britain  glories, 

F'orever  to  her  shame  ; 

We  '11  send  each  foul  revolter 

To  smutty  Africa, 

Or  noose  him  in  a  halter 

In  North  America. 

A  health  to  our  brave  footmen, 
Who  handle  sword  and  gun, 
To  Greene,  and  Gates,  and  Putnam 
And  conquering  Washington  ; 
Their  names  be  wrote  in  letters 
Which  never  will  decay, 


^ajation  of  Bmerica  71 


While  sun  and  moon  do  glitter 
On  North  America. 

Success  unto  our  allies 

In  Holland,  France,  and  Spain, 

Who  man  their  ships  and  galleys, 

Our  freedom  to  maintain  ; 

May  they  subdue  the  rangers 

Of  proud  Britannia, 

And  drive  them  from  their  anchors 

In  North  America. 

Success  unto  the  Congress 
Of  these  United  States, 
Who  glory  in  the  conquests 
Of  Washington  and  Gates  ; 
To  all,  both  land  and  seamen, 
Who  glory  in  the  day 
When  we  shall  all  be  freemen 
In  North  America. 

Success  to  legislation. 
That  rules  with  gentle  hand. 
To  trade  and  navigation 
By  water  and  by  laud. 
May  all  with  one  opinion 
Our  wholesome  laws  obey, 
Throughout  this  vast  dominion 
Of  North  America. 


THE    BATTLE    OF    THE    KEGS. 

By   FRANCIS   HOPKINSON. 

(From  "  The  Miscellaneous  Essays  and  Occasional  Writings,"  1792.) 

[This  ballad  was  occasioned  by  a  real  incident.  Cer- 
tain machines  in  the  form  of  kegs,  charged  with  gim- 
powder,  were  sent  down  the  river  to  annoy  the  British 
shipping  then  at  Philadelphia.  The  danger  of  these 
machines  being  discovered,  the  British  manned  the 
wharfs  and  shipping,  and  discharged  their  small-arms 
and  cannons  at  every  thing  they  saw  floating  in  the 
river  during  the  ebb  tide. — Ai'Thor'S  Notk.] 


GALLANTvS  attend  and  hear  a  friend 
Trill  forth  harmonious  ditty, 
Strange  things  I  '11  tell  which  late  befell 
In  Philadelphia  city. 

'T  was  early  day,  as  poets  say, 
Just  when  the  sun  was  rising, 

A  soldier  stood  on  a  log  of  wood. 
And  saw  a  thing  surprising. 


Ebe  JBattle  ot  tbe  "Ucge  73 

As  in  amaze  he  stood  to  gaze, 

The  truth  can't  be  denied,  sir. 
He  spied  a  score  of  kegs  or  more 

Come  floating  down  the  tide,  sir, 

A  sailor,  too,  in  jerkin  blue, 

This  strange  appearance  viewing. 
First  damned  his  CN-es,  in  great  surprise. 

Then  said  :   "  Some  mischief  's  brewing. 

*'  These  kegs,  I  'm  told,  the  rebels  hold, 

Packed  up  like  pickled  herring  ; 
And  they  're  come  down  to  attack  the  town, 

In  this  new  way  of  ferrying." 

The  soldier  flew,  the  sailor  too. 

And  scared  almost  to  death,  sir. 
Wore  out  their  shoes,  to  spread  the  news. 

And  ran  till  out  of  breath,  sir. 

Now  up  and  down  throughout  the  town. 

Most  frantic  scenes  were  acted  ; 
And  some  ran  here,  and  others  there. 

Like  men  almost  distracted. 

Some  fire  cried,  which  some  denied, 

But  said  the  earth  had  quaked ; 
And  girls  and  boys,  with  hideous  noise. 

Ran  through  the  streets  half  naked. 


74  ^bc  JBattlc  ot  tbc  tiCQS 

Sir  William  he,  snug  as  a  flea, 
Lay  all  this  time  a  snoring. 
Nor  dreamed  of  harm  as  he  lay  warm, 

*  *  4e-  -x-  -x- 

Now  in  a  fright,  he  starts  upright, 
Awaked  by  such  a  clatter  ; 

He  rubs  both  eyes,  and  boldly  cries  : 
For  God's  sake,  what 's  the  matter  ? 

At  his  bedside  he  then  espied, 
Sir  Erskine  at  command,  sir, 

Upon  one  foot  he  had  one  boot, 
And  th'  other  in  his  hand,  sir. 

**  Arise,  arise,"  Sir  Erskine  cries, 
**  The  rebels — more  's  the  pity, 

Without  a  boat  are  afloat. 
And  ranged  before  the  city. 

"  The  motley  crew,  in  vessels  new. 
With  Satan  for  their  guide,  sir. 

Packed  up  in  bags,  or  wooden  kegs. 
Come  driving  down  the  tide,  sir. 

''  Therefore  prepare  for  bloody  war, 
These  kegs  must  all  be  routed 

Or  surely  we  despised  shall  be. 
And  British  courage  doubted." 


Ebe  JBattle  of  tbc  f?eas  75 

The  royal  baud  now  ready  stand 

All  ranged  in  dread  array,  sir, 
With  stomach  stout  to  see  it  out, 

And  make  a  bloody  day,  sir. 

The  cannons  roar  from  shore  to  shore. 

The  small  arms  make  a  rattle  ; 
Since  wars  began  I  'm  sure  no  man 

B'er  saw  so  strange  a  battle. 

The  rebel  dales,  the  rebel  vales 

With  rebel  trees  surrounded. 
The  distant  woods,  the  hills  and  floods, 

With  rebel  echoes  sounded. 

The  fish  below  swam  to  and  fro. 
Attacked  from  every  quarter  ; 
Why  sure,  thought  they,  the  devil  's  to  pay, 
'Mongst  folks  above  the  water. 

The  kegs,  't  is  said,  though  strongly  made. 

Of  rebel  staves  and  hoops,  sir. 
Could  not  oppose  their  powerful  foes, 

The  conquering  British  troops,  sir, 

From  morn  to  night  these  men  of  might 

Displayed  amazing  courage ; 
And  when  the  sun  was  fairly  down, 

Retired  to  sup  their  porridge. 


76  Zbc  JBattlc  of  tbc  f^eas 

A  hundred  men  with  each  a  pen, 

Or  more  upon  my  word,  sir, 
It  is  most  true  would  be  too  few, 

Their  valor  to  record,  sir. 

Such  feats  did  they  perform  that  day. 
Against  these  wicked  kegs,  sir. 

That  years  to  come,  if  they  get  home, 
They  '11  make  their  boasts  and  brags,  sir. 


CARMEN   BEIylvICOSUM. 

By  guy  HUMPHRKY  McMAST^R. 

IN  their  ragged  regimentals 
Stood  the  old  Continentals, 
Yielding  not, 
When  the  grenadiers  were  lunging, 
And  like  hail  fell  the  plunging 
Cannon  shot ; 
When  the  files 
Of  the  isles 
From  the  smoky  night-encampment  bore  the  banner  of 
the  rampant 

Unicorn, 
And  grummer,  grummer,  grummer  rolled  the  roll  of  the 
drummer, 

Through  the  morn  ! 

Then  with  eyes  to  the  front  all. 
And  with  guns  horizontal 

Stood  our  sires  ; 
And  the  balls  whistled  deadly, 
And  in  streams  flashing  redly 

77 


78  Carmen  JBeUicosum 

Blazed  the  fires  ; 

As  the  roar 

On  the  shore, 
Swept  the  strong  battle  breakers  o'er  the  green  sodded 
acres 

Of  the  plain  ; 
And  louder,  louder,  louder  cracked  the  black  gunpowder, 

Cracking  amain  ! 

Now  like  smiths  at  their  forges 
Worked  the  red  Saint  George's 

Cannoneers  ; 
And  the  "  villainous  saltpetre  " 
Rung  a  fierce,  discordant  metre 
Round  their  ears  ; 
As  the  swift 
Storm  drift, 
With   hot,    sweeping    anger,    came    the    horse    guard's 
clangor 

On  our  flanks. 
Then  higher,  higher,   higher  burned  the  old-fashion -'d 
fire 

Through  the  ranks  ! 

Then  the  old-fashioned  colonel 
Galloped  through  the  white,  infernal 

Powder  cloud  ; 
And  his  broad  sword  was  swinging, 
And  his  brazen  throat  was  ringing 


Carmen  JBcUicosum 


79 


Trumpet  loud. 

Then  the  bhie 

Bullets  flew 
And  the  trooper  jackets  redden  at  the  touch  of  the  leaden 

Rifle  breath  ; 
And   rounder,    rounder,    rounder    roared    the   iron   six- 
pounder 

Hurling  death ! 


THE   YANKEE    MAN-OF-WAR. 

[Descriptive  of  the  daring  bravery  of    Captain  John 
Paul  Jones,  in  his  cruise  in  the  Irish  Channel  in  1778.] 

(From  Admiral  Luce's  "  Naval  Songs.'") 


TIS  of  a  gallant  Yankee  ship  that  flew  the  stripes 
and  stars, 
And  the  whistling  wind  from  the  west-nor'-west  blew 

through  the  pitch-pine  spars, — 
With  her  starboard  tacks  a-board,  my  boys,  she  hung 

upon  the  gale, 
On  an  autumn  night  we  raised  the  light  on  the  old  head 
of  Kinsale. 

$9 


Zbc  ll)ankcc  /IBan=of=Timar 


it  was  a  clear  and  cloudless  night,  and  the  wind  blew 

steady  and  strong, 
As  gaily  over  the  sparkling  deep  our  good  ship  bowled 

along ; 
With  the  foaming  seas  beneath  her  bow  the  fiery  waves 

she  spread. 
And  bending  low  her  bosom  of  snow,  she  buried  her  lee 

cat-head. 

There  was  no  talk  of  short'ning  sail  by  him  who  walked 

the  poop, 
And  under  the  press  of  her  pond'ring  jib,  the  boom  bent 

like  a  hoop ! 
And  the  groaning  water-ways  told  the  strain  that  held 

her  stout  main-tack, 
Bnt  he  only  laughed  as  he  glanced  aloft  at  a  white  and 

silv'ry  track. 

The  mid-tide  meets  in  the  channel  waves  that  flow  from 
shore  to  shore. 

And  the  mist  hung  heavy  upon  the  land  from  Feather- 
stone  to  Dunmore, 

And  that  sterling  light  in  Tusker  Rock  where  the  old 
bell  tolls  each  hour. 

And  the  beacon  light  that  shone  so  bright  was  quench' d 
ou  Waterford  Tower. 

The  nightly  robes  our  good  ship  wore  were  her  three  top- 
sails set 
Her  spanker  and  her  standing  jib — the  courses  being  fast ; 


82  XLbe  ^an\\cc  ■Han*of*'Caar 

"Now,   lay  aloft!    my  heroes  bold,   let  not  a  moment 

pass  ! ' ' 
And  royals  and  top-gallaut  sails  were  quickly  on  each 

mast. 

What  looms  upon  our  starboard  bow  ?     What  hans^s  upon 

the  breeze  ? 
'  T  is  time  our  good  ship  hauled  her  wind  a-breast  the  old 

Saltee's, 
For  by  her  ponderous  press  of  sail  and  by  her  consorts  four 
We  saw  our  morning  visitor  was  a  British  man-of-war. 

Up  spake  our  noble  Captain  then,  as  a  shot  ahead  of  us 

past — 
"  Haul  snug  your  flowing  courses  !  lay  your  topsail  to  the 

mast ! " 
Those  Englishmen  gave  three  loud  hurrahs  from  the  deck 

of  their  covered  ark, 
And  we  answered  back  by  a   solid  broadside  from  the 

decks  of  our  patriot  bark. 

"Out   booms!    out   booms!"    our   skipper   cried,   "out 

booms  and  give  her  sheet," 
And  the  swiftest  keel  that  was  ever  launched  shot  ahead 

of  the  British  fleet. 
And  a-midst  a  thundering  shower  of  shot  with  stun'-sails 

hoisting  away, 
Down  the  North  Channel  Paul  Jones  did  steer  just  at  the 

break  of  day. 


mtroRy 


(Battle  between  the  Bon  Homme  Richard 
and  the  Serapis,  September  23,  1779.) 


N  American  Fngate : — a  frigate 
of  fame, 
With   guus   mounting   forty,    The 
Richard  by  name, 
Sailed  to  cruise  in  the  channels  of  old  England, 
With  a  valiant  commander,  Paul  Jones  was  his  name. 
Hurrah  !  Hurrah  !  Our  country  forever.  Hurrah  ! 


We  had  not  cruised  long,  before  he  espies 

A  large  forty-four,  and  a  twenty  likewise  ; 

Well  manned  with  bold  seamen,  well  laid  in  with  stores, 

In  consort  to  drive  us  from  old  England's  shores. 

Hurrah  !  Hurrah  !  Our  country  forever,  Hurrah  ! 

83 


84  Paul  3oncs'  Uictorg 

About  twelve  at  noon,  Pearson  came  alongside, 

With  a  loud  speaking  trumpet,  "Whence  came  you?" 

he  cried  : 
"  Return  me  an  answer — I  hailed  you  before. 
Or  if  you  do  not,  a  broadside  I  '11  pour."     Hurrah  ! 

Paul  Jones  then  said  to  his  men,  every  one, 

"  Let  ever}'  true  seaman  stand  firm  to  his  gun  ! 

We  '11  receive  a  broadside  from  this  bold  Englishman, 

And  like  true  Yankee  sailors,  return  it  again."    Hurrah  ! 

The  contest  was  bloody,  both  decks  ran  with  gore, 
And  the  sea  seemed  to  blaze,  while  the  cannon  did  roar. 
"  Fight  on,  my  brave  boys,"  then  Paul  Jones  he  cried, 
"And  soon  we  will  humble  this  bold  Englishman's  pride." 
Hurrah! 

"  Stand  firm  to  your  quarters — your  duty  don't  shun. 
The  first  one  that  shrinks,  through  the  body  I  '11  run, 
Though  their  force  is  superior,  yet  they  shall  know. 
What  true,  brave  American  seamen  can  do."     Hurrah  ! 

The  battle  rolled  on,  till  bold  Pearson  cried  : 
"Have  you  yet  struck  your  colors?  then  come  along- 
side !  " 
But  so  far  from  thinking  that  the  battle  was  won. 
Brave  Paul  Jones  replied:     "I   've  not   yet  begun!" 
Hurrah  ! 


Ipaul  5one0'  IDictor^  85 


We  fought  them  eight  glasses,  eight  glasses  so  hot, 
Till  seventy  bold  seamen  lay  dead  on  the  spot. 
And  ninety  brave  seamen  lay  stretched  in  their  gore. 
While  the  pieces  of  cannon  most  fiercely  did  roar. 

Our  gunner,  in  great  fright  to  Captain  Jones  came, 
"  We  gain  water  quite  fast  and  our  side  's  in  a  flame.'' 
Then  Paul  Jones  said  in  the  height  of  his  pride  : 
"  If  we  cannot  do  better,  boys,  sink  alongside  !  " 

The  Alliance  bore  down,  and  the  Richard  did  rake, 
Which  caused  the  bold  hearts  of  our  seamen  to  ache  : 
Our  shots  flew  so  hot  that  they  could  not  stand  us  long, 
And  the  undaunted  Union-of-Britain  came  down. 

To  us  they  did  strike  and  their  colors  hauled  down  ; 
The  fame  of  Paul  Jones  to  the  world  shall  be  known. 
His  name  shall  rank  with  the  gallant  and  brave, 
Who  fought  like  a  hero — our  freedom  to  save. 

Now  all  valiant  seamen  where'er  you  may  be. 
Who  hear  of  this  combat  that  's  fought  on  the  sea. 
May  you  all  do  like  them,  when  called  to  do  the  same, 
And  your  names  be  enrolled  on  the  pages  of  fame. 

Your  country  will  boast  of  her  sons  that  are  brave. 
And  to  you  she  will  look  from  all  dangers  to  save, 
She  '11  call  you  dear  sons,  in  her  annals  you  '11  shine, 
And  the  brows  of  the  brave  shall  green  laurels  entwine. 


88  Zbc  IRogal  B^vcntllrcr 

vSo  many  chiefs  got  broken  pates 
In  vanquishing  the  rebel  states, 

So  many  nobles  fell, 
That  George  the  Third  in  passion  cried  : 
"  Our  royal  blood  must  now  be  tried  ; 

'T  is  that  must  break  the  spell  ; 

"  To  you  [the  fat  pot-valiant  swain 
To  Digby  said],  dear  friend  of  mine, 

To  you  I  trust  my  boy  ; 
The  rebel  tribes  shall  quake  with  fears, 
Rebellion  die  when  he  appears. 

My  tories  leap  with  joy." 

So  said,  so  done — the  lad  was  sent, 
But  never  reached  the  continent, 

An  island  held  him  fast — 
Yet  there  his  friends  danced  rigadoons, 
The  Hessians  sung  in  high  Dutch  tunes, 

"  Prince  William  's  come  at  last  !  " 


"Prince  William  's  come  ! " — the  Briton  cried- 
"  Our  labors  now  will  be  repaid — 

Dominion  be  restored — 
Our  monarch  is  in  William  seen, 
He  is  the  image  of  our  queen, 

Let  William  he  adored  !  " 


^be  IRosal  BDvcnturcr  89 

The  tories  came  with  long  address, 
With  poems  groaned  the  royal  press, 

And  all  iu  William's  praise — 
The  youth,  astonished,  looked  about 
To  find  their  vast  dominions  out. 

Then  answered  in  amaze  : 

"  Where  all  your  vast  domain  can  be, 
Friends,  for  my  soul  I  cannot  see  ; 

'T  is  but  an  empty  name  ; 
Three  wasted  islands  and  a  town 

In  rubbish  buried — half  burnt  down, 

Is  all  that  we  can  claim  ; 

"  I  am  of  royal  birth,  't  is  true. 
But  what,  my  sons,  can  princes  do, 

No  armies  to  command  ? 
Cornwallis  conquered  and  distrest — 
Sir  Henry  Clinton  grown  a  jest — 

I  curse— and  quit  the  land." 


EUTAW  vSPRINGS. 

TO  THE  MEMORY  OF  THE  BRAVE  AMERICANS,  UNDER 
GENERAI,  GREENE,  IN  SOUTH  CAROLINA,  WHO  FELL 
IN  THE  ACTION  OF  SEPTEMBER  8,  1781,  AT  EUTAW 
SPRINGS. 

By  PHILIP  FRENEAU. 

AT  Eutaw  Springs  the  valiant  died  : 
Their  limbs  with  dust  are  covered  o'er — 
Weep  on,  ye  springs,  your  tearful  tide  ; 
How  many  heroes  are  no  more  ! 

If  in  this  wreck  of  ruin  they 

Can  yet  be  thought  to  claim  a  tear, 

O  smite  thy  gentle  breast,  and  say 

The  friends  of  freedom  slumber  here  ! 


Thou  who  shalt  trace  this  bloody  plain. 
If  goodness  rules  thy  generous  breast. 

Sigh  for  the  wasted,  rural  reign  ; 
Sigh  for  the  shepherds,  sunk  to  rest  ! 
90 


36utaw  Springs  91 

stranger,  their  humble  graves  adorn  ; 

You  too  may  fall  and  ask  a  tear  ; 
'T  is  not  the  beauty  of  the  morn 

That  proves  the  evening  shall  be  clear — 

They  saw  their  injured  country's  woe; 

The  flaming  town,  the  wasted  field  ; 
Then  rushed  to  meet  the  insulting  foe  ; 

They  took  the  spear, — but  left  the  shield. 

Led  by  thy  conquering  genius,  Greene, 

The  Britons  they  compelled  to  fly ; 
None  distant  viewed  the  fatal  plain, 

None  grieved,  in  such  a  cause  to  die — 

But,  like  the  Parthian,  famed  of  old, 
Who,  flying  still  their  arrows  threw ; 

These  routed  Britons,  full  as  bold. 
Retreated,  and  retreating  slew. 

Now  rest  in  peace,  our  patriot  band  ; 

Though  far  from  Nature's  limits  thrown, 
We  trust  they  find  a  happier  land, 

A  brighter  sunshine  of  their  own. 


AN   ANCIENT   PROPHRCY. 

By  PHIUP  FRKXKAU. 

(Written  soon  after  the  surrender  of  Cornwallis.) 

WHEN  a  ceilain  great  King,  whose  initial  is  G., 
Forces  stamps  upon  paper  and  folks  to  drink  tea; 
When  these  folks  burn  his  tea  and  stanipt-paper,  like 

stubble, 
You  may  guess  that  this  King  is  then  coming  to  trouble. 

But  when  a  Petition  he  treads  under  feet, 

And  sends  over  the  ocean  an  army  and  fleet. 

When  that  army,  half  famished,  and  frantic  with  rage, 

Is  cooped  up  with  a  leader  whose  name  rhymes  to  cage ; 

When  that  leader  goes  home,  dejected  and  sad  ; 

You  may  then  be  assured  the  King's  prospects  are  bad. 

But  when  B,  and  C.  with  their  armies  are  taken 
This  King  will  do  well  if  he  saves  his  own  bacon  : 
In  the  year  Seventeen  hundred  and  eighty  and  two 
A  stroke  he  shall  get,  that  will  make  him  look  blue  ; 
92 


Bn  Bucient  propbccg  93 


And  soon,  very  soon,  shall  the  season  arrive, 
When  Nebuchadnezzar  to  pasture  shall  drive. 

In  the  3'ear  eighty-three,  the  affair  will  be  over 

And  he  shall  eat  turnips  that  grow  in  Hanover  ; 

The  face  of  the  Lion  will  then  become  pale, 

He  shall  yield  fifteen  teeth  and  be  sheared  of  his  tail — 

O  King,  niy  dear  King,  you  shall  be  very  sore. 

From  the  S/ars  and  the  Stripes  you  will  mercy  implore. 

And  your  Lion  shall  growl,  but  hardly  bite  more. — 


THE    DANCE. 

(Published  soon  after  the  surrender  of  Comwallis.) 

CORNWALLIvS  led  a  country  dance, 
The  like  was  never  seen,  sir, 
Much  retrogade  and  much  advance, 
And  all  with  General  Greene,  sir. 

They  rambled  up  and  rambled  down, 
Joined  hands,  then  off  they  run,  sir. 

Our  General  Greene  to  Charlestowu, 
The  earl  to  Wilmington,  sir, 

Greene  in  the  South  then  danced  a  set, 

And  got  a  mighty  name,  sir, 
Comwallis  jigged  with  young  Fayette^ 

But  suffered  in  his  fame,  sir. 


Then  down  he  figured  to  the  shore. 
Most  like  a  lordly  dancer. 

And  on  his  courtly  honor  swore 
He  would  no  more  advance,  sir. 

94 


^be  Dance  95 


Quoth  he,  my  guards  are  weary  grown 

With  footing  country  dances, 
They  never  at  St.  James's  shone, 

At  capers,  kicks  or  prances. 

Though  men  so  gallant  ne'er  were  seen, 
While  sauntering  on  parade,  sir. 

Or  wriggling  o'er  the  park's  smooth  green, 
Or  at  a  masquerade,  sir. 

Yet  are  red  heels  and  long-laced  skirts, 
For  stumps  and  briars  meet,  sir  ? 

Or  stand  they  chance  with  hunting-shirts, 
Or  hardy  veteran  feet,  sir? 

Now  housed  in  York,  he  challenged  all, 

At  minuet  or  all  'amande, 
And  lessons  for  a  courtly  ball 

His  guards  by  day  and  night  conned. 

This  challenge  known,  full  soon  there  came, 

A  set  who  had  the  bon  ton, 
De  Grasse  and  Rochambeau,  whose  fame 

Fut  brillant  pour  un  long  tems. 

And  Washington,  Columbia's  son. 

Whom  easy  nature  taught,  sir. 
That  grace  which  can't  by  pains  be  won, 

Or  Plutus's  gold  be  bought,  sir. 


THK    DANCE. 

(Published  soon  after  the  surrender  of  Cornwallis.) 

CORNWALLIS  led  a  country  dance, 
The  like  was  never  seen,  sir, 
ZNIuch  retrogade  and  much  advance, 
And  all  with  General  Greene,  sir. 

They  rambled  up  and  rambled  down, 
Joined  hands,  then  off  they  run,  sir. 

Our  General  Greene  to  Charlestown, 
The  earl  to  Wilmington,  sir. 

Greene  in  the  South  then  danced  a  set, 

And  got  a  mighty  name,  sir, 
Cornwallis  jigged  with  young  Fayette, 

But  suffered  in  his  fame,  sir. 

Then  down  he  figured  to  the  shore, 

Most  like  a  lordly  dancer. 
And  on  his  courtly  honor  swore 

He  would  no  more  advance,  sir. 

94 


XLbc  Dance  95 


Quoth  he,  my  guards  are  weary  grown 

With  footing  country  dances, 
They  never  at  St.  James's  shone, 

At  capers,  kicks  or  prances. 

Though  men  so  gallant  ne'er  were  seen, 
While  sauntering  on  parade,  sir. 

Or  wriggling  o'er  the  park's  smooth  green, 
Or  at  a  masquerade,  sir. 

Yet  are  red  heels  and  long-laced  skirts, 
For  stumps  and  briars  meet,  sir  ? 

Or  stand  they  chance  with  hunting-shirts, 
Or  hardy  veteran  feet,  sir  ? 

Now  housed  in  York,  he  challenged  all, 

At  minuet  or  all  'amande. 
And  lessons  for  a  courtly  ball 

His  guards  by  day  and  night  conned. 

This  challenge  known,  full  soon  there  came, 

A  set  who  had  the  bon  ton, 
De  Grasse  and  Rochambeau,  whose  fame 

Fut  brillant  pour  un  long  terns. 

And  Washington,  Columbia's  son, 

Whom  easy  nature  taught,  sir, 
That  grace  which  can't  by  pains  be  won, 

Or  Plutus's  gold  be  bought,  sir. 


96  vlbc  5)ance 


Now  hand  in  hand  they  circle  round 

This  ever-dancing  peer,  sir  ; 
Their  gentle  movements  soon  confound 

The  earl  as  they  draw  near,  sir. 

His  music  soon  forgets  to  play— 
His  feet  can  move  no  more, -'  sir, 

And  all  his  bands  now  curse  the  day 
They  jigged  to  our  shore,  sir. 

Now  Tories  all,  what  can  ye  say? 

Come — is  not  this  a  griper. 
That  while  your  hopes  are  danced  away, 

'T  is  you  must  pay  the  piper? 

1781. 

*  In  all  the  versions  of  this  poem  examined  by  the  editor  this  line 
reads  '•  His  feet  can  no  more  move,  sir"  ;  but  the  reading  is  so 
clearly  wrong  that  it  seems  proper  to  amend  it  so  that  the  ob\nously 
intended  rhyme  between  ' '  more,  sir  ' '  and  ' '  shore,  sir  ' '  shall  appear. 
There  is  the  greater  justification  for  the  taking  of  this  liberty  of  cor- 
rection because  the  poem  originally  appeared  in  carelessly  edited 
contemporary  prints.— Euitor. 


SONG  OF  MARION'S  MEN. 

By  WILUAM  CUI^IvKN  BRYANT. 

[A  very  interesting  bit  of  literary  history  attaches  to 
this  poem.  The  piece  appeared  in  Mr.  Bryant's  first 
collected  volume  of  poems  about  183 1.  Mr,  Bryant  sent 
the  volume,  with  a  letter,  to  Washington  Irving,  then  in 
London,  with  whom  he  had  no  personal  acquaintance, 
and  invoked  his  good  offices  in  inducing  Murray  to  bring 
out  an  English  edition  of  the  work.  The  time  being  pe- 
culiarly unpropitious,  Murray  declined  to  undertake  the 
venture,  but  Irving  found  another  publisher,  and  himself 
introduced  the  volume  in  the  most  favorable  manner, 
with  a  dedicatory  letter  of  his  own.  While  passing  the 
book  through  the  press  the  publisher  observed  in  this 
poem  the  lines  : 


The  British  soldier  trembles 
When  Marion's  name  is  told, 

97 


98  Song  ot  /Dbarioir^  /IBcn 

and  assured  Irving  that  lie  could  not  offer  a  work  con- 
taining such  a  statement  to  a  British  public.  It  was  im- 
possible to  consult  the  author,  three  thousand  miles  away, 
and  Irving  ventured  to  change  the  objectionable  passage 
so  that  it  should  read  : 

"  The  foeman  trembles  in  his  camp 
When  Marion's  name  is  told." 

There  is  no  reason  to  believe  that  Mr.  Bryant  ever  re- 
sented the  liberty  or  regarded  it  otherwise  than  as  an  act 
of  friendly  intervention  ;  but  some  years  later  William 
Leggett,  who  had  long  been  Mr.  Bryant's  editorial  asso- 
ciate in  the  office  of  the  Evening  Post,  but  had  severed 
his  connection  with  that  paper,  made  a  virulent  assault 
upon  Irving  in  the  Plaindealcr  on  account  of  the  change 
he  had  made,  even  going  so  far  as  to  intimate  that  both 
that  and  his  dealings  with  one  of  his  own  works  were 
dictated  by  mean  sycophancy  and  cowardice  on  Irving's 
part.— Editor.] 


SONG  OF  MARION'S  MEN. 

OUR  band  is  few,  but  true  and  tried, 
Our  leader  frank  and  bold  ; 
The  British  soldier  trembles 

When  Marion's  name  is  told. 
Our  fortress  is  the  good  greenwood, 

Our  tent  the  cypress  tree  ; 
We  know  the  forest  round  us  ; 

As  seamen  know  the  sea  ; 
We  know  its  walls  of  thorny  vines, 

Its  glades  of  reedy  grass. 
Its  safe  and  silent  islands 

Within  the  dark  morass. 


99 


Soiui  of  /B>iUioir^  /HbCli 


Woe  to  the  En<j;lisli  soldiery 

That  little  dread  us  near  ! 
On  them  shall  light  at  midnight 

A  strange  and  sudden  fear  ; 
When,  waking  to  their  tents  on  fire, 

They  grasp  their  anns  in  vain, 
And  they  who  stand  to  face  us 

Are  beat  to  earth  again  ; 
And  they  who  fly  in  terror  deem 

A  mighty  host  behind, 
And  hear  the  tramp  of  thousands 

Upon  the  hollow  wind. 

Then  sweet  the  hour  that  brings  release 

From  danger  and  from  toil  ; 
We  talk  the  battle  over, 

And  share  the  battle's  spoil. 
The  woodland  rings  with  laugh  and  shout 

As  if  a  hunt  were  up, 
And  woodland  flowers  are  gathered 

To  crown  the  soldier's  cup. 
With  merry  songs  we  mock  the  wind 

That  in  the  pine-top  grieves, 
And  slumber  long  and  sweetly 

On  beds  of  oaken  leaves. 

W^ell  knows  the  fair  and  friendly  moon 
The  band  that  Marion  leads, — 


Som  of  /Bbarion's  /IRcn 


The  glitter  of  their  rifles, 

The  scampering  of  their  steeds. 
'T  is  life  to  guide  the  fiery  barb 

Across  the  moonlight  plain  ; 
'T  is  life  to  feel  the  night  wind 

That  lifts  his  tossing  mane. 
A  moment  in  the  British  camp — 

A  moment — and  away 
Back  to  the  pathless  forest, 

Before  the  peep  of  day. 

Grave  men  there  are  by  broad  Santee, 

Grave  men  with  hoary  hairs  ; 
Their  hearts  are  all  with  Marion, 

For  Maiion  are  their  prayers. 
And  lovely  ladies  greet  our  band 

With  kindliest  welcoming, 
With  smiles  like  those  of  summer, 

And  tears  like  those  of  spring. 
For  them  w^e  wear  these  trusty  arms. 

And  lay  them  down  no  more 
Till  we  have  driven  the  Briton 

Forever  from  our  shore. 


HAIL  COLI'MBIA. 

By    JOSEPH    HOPKINSON. 

(First  sung  at  the  Chestnut  Street  Theatre,  Philadelphia,  in  1798.) 

[This  song  was  inspired  by  the  troubles  with  France, 
■which  threatened  but  did  not  actually  result  in  open  war. 
For  convenience  it  is  classed  with  the  ballads  and  lyrics 
of  the  Revolution,  to  the  actors  in  which  its  references 
point,  though,  strictly  speaking,  it  belongs  to  none  of 
the  groups  into  which  this  collection  is  divided. — 
Editor.] 

HAIL  !  Columbia,  happy  land  ! 
Hail  !  ye  heroes,  heav'n-born  band, 
Who  fought  and  bled  in  freedom's  cause, 
Who  fought  and  bled  in  freedom's  cause, 
And  when  the  storm  of  war  was  gone, 
Enjoyed  the  peace  your  valor  won  ; 
Let  independence  be  your  boast, 
Ever  mindful  what  it  cost, 


1batl  Columbia  103 

Ever  grateful  for  the  prize, 
Let  its  altar  reach  the  skies. 

CJwrus. 

Firm,  united  let  us  be, 
Rallying  round  our  liberty  , 
As  a  band  of  brothers  joined, 
Peace  and  safety  we  shall  find. 

Immortal  patriots,  rise  once  more  ! 

Defend  your  rights,  defend  your  shore  ; 

Let  no  rude  foe  with  impious  hand, 

Let  no  rude  foe  with  impious  hand 

Invade  the  shrine  where  sacred  lies 

Of  toil  and  blood  the  well-earned  prize  ; 

While  offering  peace,  sincere  and  just, 

In  heav'n  we  place  a  manly  trust. 

That  truth  and  justice  may  prevail, 

And  ev'ry  scheme  of  bondage  fail. — Chorus. 

Sound,  sound  the  trump  of  fame  ! 

Let  Washington's  great  name 

Ring  thro'  the  world  with  loud  applause ! 

Ring  thro'  the  world  with  loud  applause ! 

Let  ev'ry  clime  to  freedom  dear 

Listen  with  a  joyful  ear  ; 

With  equal  skill,  with  steady  pow'r, 

He  governs  in  the  fearful  hour 


I04  f)ail  Columbia 


Of  horrid  war,  or  guides  with  ease 

The  happier  time  of  honest  peace. — Chorus. 

Behold  the  chief,  w4io  now  commands, 
Once  more  to  serve  his  country  stands. 
The  rock  on  which  the  storm  will  beat ! 
The  rock  on  which  the  storm  will  beat ! 
But  armed  in  virtue,  firm  and  true. 
His  hopes  are  fixed  on  heav'u  and  you. 
When  hope  was  sinking  in  dismay. 
When  gloom  obscured  Columbia's  day, 
His  steady  mind,  from  changes  free. 
Resolved  on  death  or  liberty. — Chorus. 


ydSSKSiFl'S^. 


(Action  between  the  Constellation  and  the  Insurgente,  9  Feb.,  1799.) 

[This  song  and  the  one  that  follows  it  relate  to  a  naval 
conflict  of  1799,  during  the  troubles  which  for  a  time 
threatened  war  between  France  and  the  United  States. 
As  the  second  of  the  two  songs  was  written  in  1813, 
and  both  were  much  sung  at  that  period,  it  has  been 
thought  best  to  present  both  of  them  where  one  properly 
belongs,  namely,  among  the  poems  of  the  last  war  with 
Great  Britain. — Editor.] 

WHEN  Freedom,  fair  Freedom,  her  banner  display'd. 
Defying  each  foe  whom  her  rights  would  invade, 
Columbia's  brave  sons  swore  those  rights  to  maintain, 
And  o'er  ocean  and  earth  to  establish  her  reign  ; 
United  they  cry, 
While  that  standard  shall  fly, 
107 


io8  Erujtoirs  Dictorg 


Resolved,  firm,  and  steady. 
We  always  are  read}' 
To  fight,  and  to  conquer,  to  conquer  or  die. 

Tbo'  Gallia  through  Europe  has  rushed  like  a  flood, 

And  deluged  the  earth  with  an  ocean  of  blood  : 

While  by  faction  she   's  led,  while  she  's  governed   b 

knaves. 
We  court  not  her  smiles,  and  will  ne'er  be  her  slaves  ; 

Her  threats  we  defy, 

While  our  standard  shall  fly. 

Resolved,  firm,  and  steady, 

We  always  are  ready 
To  fight,  and  to  conquer,  to  conquer  or  die. 

Tho'  France  with  caprice  dares  our  Statesmen  upbraid, 
A  tribute  demands,  or  sets  bounds  to  our  trade  ; 
From  our  young  rising  Navy  our  thunders  shall  roar, 
And  our  Commerce  extend  to  the  earth's  utmost  shore 

Our  cannon  we  '11  ply. 

While  our  standard  shall  fly  ; 

Resolved,  firm,  and  steady, 

We  always  are  ready 
To  fight,  and  to  conquer,  to  conquer  or  die. 

To  know  we  're  resolved,  let  them  think  on  the  hour, 
When  Truxton,  brave  Truxton  off"Nevis's  shore. 
His  ship  mann'd  for  battle,  the  standard  unfurl'd, 
And  at  the  Insurgcntc  defiance  he  hurled  ; 


G^ruiton*^  IDictorg  109 


A.nd  his  valiant  tars  cry, 
While  our  standard  shall  fly, 
Resolved,  firm,  and  steady, 
We  always  are  ready 
To  fight,  and  to  conquer,  to  conquer  or  die. 

Each  heart  beat  exulting,  inspir'd  by  the  cause  ; 
They  fought  for  their  country,  their  freedom  and  laws  ; 
From  their  cannon  loud  volleys  of  vengeance  they  pour'd, 
And  the  standard  of  France  to  Columbia  was  lower'd. 

Huzza  !  they  now  cry, 

Let  the  Eagle  wave  high  ; 

Resolved,  firm,  and  steady. 

We  always  are  ready 
To  fight,  and  to  conquer,  to  conquer  or  die. 

Then  raise  high  the  strain,  pay  the  tribute  that  's  due 
To  the  fair  Constellation ,  and  all  her  brave  Crew  ; 
Be  Truxton  revered,  and  his  name  be  enrolled, 
'Mongst  the  chiefs  of  the  ocean,  the  heroes  of  old. 

Each  invader  defy, 

While  such  heroes  are  nigh. 

Who  always  are  ready, 

Resolved,  firm,  and  steady 
To  fight,  and  to  conquer,  to  conquer  or  die. 


THE     "  COXvSTELLATION  "    AND    THE    "  INvSUR- 
GENTE." 

(Action  of  9  February,  1799.) 

CONNIE  all  ye  Yankee  sailors,  with  swords  and  pikes 
advance, 
'T   is    time    to  tr\'  3-our   courage   and    humble  haughty 
France, 
The  sons  of  France  our  seas  invade, 
Destroy  our  commerce  and  our  trade, 
'T  is  time  the  reck'ning  should  be  paid  ! 
To  brave  Yankee  boys. 

On  board  the  Co7istellation,  from  Baltimore  we  came, 
We  had  a  bold  commander  and  Truxton  was  his  name  ! 

Our  ship  she  mounted  forty  guns, 

And  on  the  main  so  swiftly  runs, 

To  prove  to  France  Columbia's  sons 
Are  brave  Yankee  boys. 

We  sailed  to  the  West  Indies  in  order  to  annoy 
The  invaders  of  our  commerce,  to  bum,  sink,  and  destroy ; 
no 


^be  Constellation  anD  tbc  Unsurgente      m 


Our  Constellation  shone  so  bright, 
The  Frenchmen  coukl  not  bear  the  sight, 
And  away  they  scamper' d  in  affright, 
From  the  brave  Yankee  boys. 

'T  was  on  the  9th  of  February,  at  Montserrat  we  lay, 
And  there  we  spy'd  the  Insurgcnte  just  at  the  break  of 
day, 
We  raised  the  orange  and  the  blue, 
To  see  if  they  our  signals  knew, 
The  Constellation  and  her  crew 
Of  brave  Yankee  boys. 

Then  all  hands  were  called  to  quarters,  while  we  pursued 

in  chase, 
With  well  prim'd  guns,  our  tompions  out,  well  spliced  the 
main  brace. 
Soon  to  the  French  we  did  draw  nigh. 
Compelled  to  fight,  they  were,  or  fly, 
The  word  was  passed,  "  Conquer  or  die," 
My  brave  Yankee  boys. 

Lord  !  our  Cannons  thunder' d  with  peals  tremendous  roar, 
And  death  upon  our  bullets'  wings  that  drenched  their 
decks  with  gore, 
The  blood  did  from  their  scuppers  run. 
Their  chief  exclaimed,  "  We  are  undone  !  " 
Their  flag  they  struck,  the  battle  won. 
By  the  brave  Yankee  boys. 


Zbc  Constellation  an^  tbc  Ihi^ur^ente 


Then  to  St.  Kitts  we  steered,  we  bro't  her  safe  in  port, 
The  grand  salute  was  fired  and  answered  from  the  fort; 
John  Adams  in  full  bumpers  toast, 
George  Washington,  Columbia's  boast, 
And  now  "  the  girl  we  love  the  most !  " 
My  brave  Yankee  boys. 

1813. 


THE  WASP'vS  FROLIC. 

"(Action  of  i8  October,  1812.) 
[From  "  Naval  Songster,"  1815.] 

''  I  '  WAS  ou  board  the  sloop-of-\var  Wasp  boys, 

1       We  set  sail  from  Delaware  Bay, 
To  cruise  on  Columbia's  fair  coast,  sirs, 
Our  rights  to  maintain  on  the  sea. 

Three  da3-s  were  not  passed  on  our  station, 
When  the  Frolic  came  up  to  our  view  ; 

Says  Jones,  "  Show  the  flag  of  our  nation  "  ; 
Three  cheers  were  then  gave  by  our  crew. 

We  boldly  bore  up  to  this  Briton, 

Whose  cannon  began  for  to  roar ; 

The  Wasp  soon  her  stings  from  her  side  ran, 
W^hen  we  on  them  a  broadside  did  pour. 

113 


114  ^bc  imiasp's  frolic 

Each  sailor  stood  firm  at  his  quarters, 
'T  was  minutes  past  forty  and  three, 

When  fifty  bold  Britons  were  slaughter' d. 

Whilst  our  guns  swept  their  masts  in  the  sea. 

Their  breasts  then  with  valor  still  glowing, 
Acknowledged  the  battle  we  'd  won, 

On  us  then  bright  laurels  bestowing. 
When  to  leeward  they  fired  a  gun. 

On  their  decks  we  the  twenty  guns  counted, 
With  a  crew  for  to  answer  the  same  ; 

Eighteen  was  the  number  we  mounted. 
Being  served  by  the  lads  of  true  game. 

With  the  Frolic  in  tow,  we  were  standing, 
All  in  for  Columbia's  fair  shore  ; 

But  fate  on  our  laurels  was  frowning, 
We  were  taken  by  a  seventy -four. 


CONSTITUTION" 
''GUKRRI^RE.' 


AND 


(Action  of  19  August,  1812.) 

f  TT  oft  times  has  been  told, 

-"  1     That  the  British  seamen  bold, 

Could  flog  the  tars  of  France  so  neat  and  handy,  oh  ! 
But  they  never  found  their  match, 
Till  the  Yankees  did  them  catch. 

Oh,  the  Yankee  boys  for  fighting  are  the  dandy,  oh  ! 

The  Guerriere  a  frigate  bold. 
On  the  foaming  ocean  rolled. 
Commanded  by  proud  Dacres,  the  grandee,  oh  ! 

115 


ii6  Constitution  auD  Gucrncrc 


With  as  choice  a  British  crew, 
As  a  rammer  ever  drew, 
Could  flog  the  Frenchmen  two  to  one  so  handy,  oh  ! 

When  this  frigate  hove  in  view. 

Says  proud  Dacres  to  his  crew, 
"  Come  clear  ship  for  action  and  be  handy,  oh  ! 

To  the  weather  gage,  boys,  get  her," 

And  to  make  his  men  fight  better. 
Gave  them  to  drink  gun-powder  mixed  with  brandy,  oh ! 

Then  Dacres  loudly  cries, 

"  Make  this  Yankee  ship  your  prize. 
You  can  in  thirty  minutes,  neat  and  handy,  oh  ! 

Twenty-five  's  enough  I  'm  sure, 

And  if  you  '11  do  it  in  a  score, 
I  '11  treat  you  to  a  double  share  of  brandy,  oh  !  " 

The  British  shot  flew  hot, 

Which  the  Yankees  answered  not. 

Till  they  got  within  the  distance  they  called  handy,  oh  ! 
"Now,"  says  Hull  unto  his  crew, 
"  Boys,  let 's  see  what  we  can  do. 

If  we  take  this  boasting  Briton  we  're  the  dandy,  oh  !  " 

The  first  broadside  we  pour'd 
Carried  her  mainmast  by  the  board, 
Which  made  this  loftly  frigate  look  abandon'd,  oh  ! 


Constitution  an&  Gucrrierc  117 

Then  Dacres  shook  his  head, 
And  to  his  officers  said, 
"  Lord  .  I  did  n't  think  those  Yankees  were  so  handy,  oh  !" 

Our  second  told  so  well 

That  their  fore  and  mizzen  fell, 
Which  dous'd  the  Royal  ensign  neat  and  handy,  oh  ! 

"  B}^  George  !  "  says  he,  "we  're  done,*' 

And  they  fired  a  lee  gun. 
While  the  Yankees  struck  up  Yankee  Doodle  Dandy,  oh  ! 

Then  Dacres  came  on  board, 

To  deliver  up  his  sword, 
Tho'  loth  was  he  to  part  with  it,  it  was  so  handy,  oh  ! 

"  Oh  keep  your  sword,"  says  Hull, 

"  For  it  only  makes  you  dull, 
"  Cheer  up  and  take  a  little  drink  of  brandy,  oh  !  " 

Now,  fill  your  glasses  full, 

And  we  '11  drink  to  Captain  Hull, 

And  so  merrily  we  '11  push  about  the  brand}^  oh  ! 
John  Bull  may  toast  his  fill, 
But  let  the  world  say  what  they  will, 

The  Yankee  boys  for  fighting  are  the  dandy,  oh  ! 


THE    "UNITED  STATES"  AND  "MACEDONIAN." 

(Action  25  of  October,  1812.) 

HOW  glows  each  patriot  bosom  that  boasts  a  Yankee 
heart, 
To  emulate  such  glorious  deeds  and  nobly  take  a  part ; 
When  sailors  with  their  thund'ring  guns, 
Prove  to  the  English,  French,  and  Danes 
That  Neptune's  chosen  fav'rite  sons 
Are  brave  Yankees  boys. 

The  twenty-fifth  of  October,  that  glorious  happy  day, 
When  we  beyond  all  precedent,  from  Britons  bore  the 
sway, — 
'T  was  in  the  ship  United  States, 
Four  and  forty  guns  the  rates, 
That  she  should  rule,  decreed  the  Fates, 
And  brave  Yankee  boys. 

Decatur  and  his  hardy  tars  were  cruising  on  the  deep, 
When  off  the  Western  Islands  they  to  and  fro  did  sweep. 
The  Macedonian  they  espied, 
118 


Zbc  ISinitct)  States  an&  /nbace^onian        119 

"  Hiizza  !  bravo  !  "  Decatur  cried, 
"  We  '11  humble  Britain's  boasted  pride, 
My  brave  Yankee  boys." 

The  decks  were  cleared,  the  hammocks  stowed,  the  boat- 
swain pipes  all  hands, 
The  tompions  out,  the  guns  well  sponged,  the  Captain  now 
commands  ; 
The  boys  who  for  their  country  fight. 
Their  words,  "  Free  Trade  and  Sailor's  Rights  !  " 
Three  times  they  cheered  with  all  their  might, 
Those  brave  Yankee  boys. 

Now  chain-shot,  grape,  and  langrage  pierce  through  her 

oaken  sides. 
And  many  a  gallant  sailor's  blood  runs  purpling  in  the 
tides  ; 
While  death  flew  nimbly  o'er  their  decks. 
Some  lost  their  legs,  and  some  their  necks, 
And  Glory's  wreath  our  ship  be-decks, 
For  brave  Yankee  boys. 

My  boys,  the  proud  St.  George's  Cross,  the  stripes  above 

it  wave. 
And  busy  are  our  gen'rous  tars,  the  conquered  foe  to  save. 
Our  Captain  cries  *'  Give  me  your  hand," 
Then  of  the  ship  who  took  command 
But  brave  Yankee  boys  ? 


120      ^be  tlniteO  States  an(>  /IRace^onian 

Our  enemy  lost  her  mizzen,  her  main  and  fore-top-mast, 
For  ev'ry  shot  with  death  was  winged,  which  slew  her 
men  so  fast, 
That  they  lost  five  to  one  in  killed, 
And  ten  to  one  their  blood  was  spilled, 
So  Fate  decreed  and  Heaven  had  willed, 
For  brave  Yankee  boys. 

Then  homeward  steered  the  captive  ship,  now    safe  in 

port  she  lies. 
The   old   and    young  with  rapture  viewed    our  sailors' 
noble  prize  ; 
Through  seas  of  wine  their  health  we  '11  drink, 
And  wish  them  sweet-hearts,  friends,  and  chink, 
Who  'fore  they  'd  strike,  will  nobly  sink 
Our  brave  Yankee  boys. 

1813. 


THE  "UNITED  STATES"  AND    "MACEDONIAN. 

(Action  of  25  October,  1812.) 

THE  banner  of  Freedom  high  floated  unfurled, 
While  the  silver-tipt  surges  in  low  homage  curled, 
Flashing  bright  round  the  bow  of  Decatur's  brave  bark, 
In  contest,  an  "  eagle  " — in  chasing  a  "  lark." 
The  bold  United  States, 
Which  four-and-forty  rates, 
Will  ne'er  be  known  to  yield — be  known  to  yield  or  fly> 
Her  motto  is  "  Glory  !  we  conquer  or  we  die." 

All  canvas  expanded  to  woo  the  coy  gale, 
The  ship  cleared  for  action,  in  chase  of  a  sail  ; 
The  foemen  in  view,  every  bosom  beats  high. 
All  eager  for  conquest,  or  ready  to  die. 

The  bold  United  States, 

Which  four-and-forty  rates. 
Will  ne'er  be  know'n  to  yield — be  known  to  yield  or  fly. 
Her  motto  is  "  Glory  !  we  conqueror  we  die." 
121 


122        XLbc  '^nitcb  States  an^  ^accDonian 

Now  havoc  stands  ready,  with  optics  of  flame, 
And  battle-hounds  "  strain  on  the  start  "  for  the  game  ; 
The  blood  demons  rise  on  the  surge  for  their  prey. 
While  Pity,  rejected,  awaits  the  dread  fray. 

The  bold  C/fii/ed  States, 

Which  four-aud-forty  rates, 
Will  ne'er  be  known  to  yield — be  known  to  yield  or  fly 
Her  motto  is  ''  Glory  !  we  conquer  or  we  die." 


The  gay  floating  streamers  of  Britain  appear, 
Waving  light  on  the  breeze  as  the  stranger  we  near  ; 
And  now  could  the  quick-sighted  Yankee  discern 
**  Macedonian, ^^  emblazoned  at  large  on  her  stern. 

The  bold  United  States, 

Which  four-and-forty  rates. 
Will  ne'er  be  known  to  yield — be  known  to  yield  or  fly. 
Her  motto  is  "  Glory  !  we  conquer  or  we  die." 


She  waited  our  approach,  and  the  contest  began, 
But  to  waste  ammunition  is  no  Yankee  plan  ; 
In  awful  suspense  every  match  was  withheld. 
While  the  bull-dogs  of  Britain  incessantly  yelled. 

The  bold  United  States, 

Which  four-and-forty  rates. 
Will  ne'er  be  known  to  yield — be  known  to  yield  or  fl^-, 
Her  motto  is  *'  Glory  !  we  conquer  or  we  die." 


tTbe  'Ulnite^  States  an^  /llbaccDonian        123 

Unavved  by  her  thunders,  alongside  we  came, 
While  the  foe  seemed  enwrapped  in  a  mantle  of  flame  ; 
When,  prompt  to  the  word,  such  a  flood  we  return, 
That  Neptune  aghast,  thought  his  trident  would  burn. 

The  bold  United  States, 

Which  four-and- forty  rates, 
Will  ne'er  be  known  to  yield — be  known  to  yield  or  fly. 
Her  motto  is  "  Glory  !  we  conquer  or  we  die." 


Now  the  lightning  of  battle  gleams  horridly  red, 
With  a  tempest  of  iron  and  hail-storm  of  lead  ; 
And  our  fire  on  the  foe  we  so  copiously  poured. 
His  mizzen  and  topmasts  soon  went  by  the  board. 

The  bold  United  States, 

Which  four-and-forty  rates, 
Will  ne'er  be  known  to  yield — be  known  to  yield  or  fly. 
Her  motto  is  "  Glory  !  we  conquer  or  we  die." 


So  fierce  and  so  bright  did  our  flashes  aspire, 
They  thought  that  their  cannon  had  set  us  on  fire, 
"  The  Yankee  's  in  flames  ! — every  British  tar  hears, 
And  hails  the  false  omen  with  three  hearty  cheers. 

The  bold  United  States, 

Which  four-and-forty  rates. 
Will  ne'er  be  known  to  yield — be  known  to  yield  or  fly, 
Her  motto  is  "  Glory  !  we  conquer  or  we  die." 


124       Zbc  XXnitct)  Statca  aiiD  ^accOoniau 

In  seventeen  minutes  they  found  their  mistake, 
And  were  glad  to  surrender  and  fall  in  our  wake  ; 
Her  decks  were  with  carnage  and  blood  deluged  o'er, 
Where  welt'ring  in  blood  lay  an  hundred  and  four. 

The  bold  C^ui fed  States, 

Which  four-and-forty  rates, 
Will  ne'er  be  known  to  yield — be  known  to  yield  or  fly 
Her  motto  is  "Glory  !  we  conquer  or  we  die." 


But  though  she  was  made  so  completely  a  wreck, 
With  blood  they  had  scarcely  encrimsoned  our  deck  ; 
Only  five  valiant  Yankees  in  the  contest  were  slain, 
And  our  ship  in  five  minutes  was  fitted  again. 

The  bold  United  States, 

Which  four-and-forty  rates, 
Will  ne'er  be  known  to  yield — be  known  to  yield  or  fl\ 
Her  motto  is  "  Glory  !  we  conquer  or  we  die." 


Let  Britain  no  longer  lay  clain  to  the  seas. 
For  the  trident  of  Neptune  is  ours,  if  we  please. 
While  Hull  and  Decatur  and  Jones  are  our  boast, 
W^e  dare  their  whole  navy  to  come  on  our  coast. 

The  bold  Uuited  States, 

Which  four-and-forty  rates. 
Will  ne'er  be  known  to  yield — be  known  to  yield  or  fly 
Her  motto  is  "  Glory  !  we  conquer  or  we  die  " 


vj,bc  ^niteC)  States  anO  /iRaceDonian       125 

Rise,  tars  of  Columbia ! — and  share  in  the  fame, 
Which  gilds  Hull's,  Decatur's  and  Jones's  bright  name  ; 
Fill  a  bumper,  and  drink,  "  Here  's  success  to  the  cause, 
But  Decatur  supremely  deserves  our  applause." 

The  bold  United  States, 

Which  four-and-forty  rates. 
Shall  ne'er  be  known  to  yield — be  known  to  yield  or  fly. 
Her  motto  is  "Glory  !  we  conquer  or  we  die." 


1^13- 


PERRY'vS   VICTORY. 

(Battle  of  Lake  Erie,  lo  September,  1813.) 

[This  ballad,  clumsy  as  it  is  in  coustructiou,  was  very 
popular  in  its  day,  mainly,  perhaps,  because  of  the 
peculiarly  dramatic  character  of  the  action  it  was  written 
to  celebrate. — Editor.] 

WE  sailed  to  and  fro  in  Erie's  broad  lake, 
To  find  British  bullies  or  get  into  their  wake, 
When  we  hoisted  our  canvas  with  true  Yankee  speed, 
And  the  brave  Captain  Perry  our  squadron  did  lead. 

We  sailed  thro'  the  lake,  boys,  in  search  of  the  foe, 

In  the  cause  of  Columbia  our  brav'rj'  to  show, 

To  be  equal  in  combat  was  all  our  delight, 

As  we  wished  the  proud  Britons  to  know  we  could  fight 

And  w^hether  like  Yeo,  boys,  they  'd  taken  affright, 
We  could  see  not,  nor  find  them  by  day  or  by  night ; 
vSo  cruising  we  went  in  a  glorious  cause. 
In  defence  of  our  rights,  our  freedom,  and  laws. 
126 


lperrB'6  Dictorg  127 

At  length  to  our  liking  six  sails  hove  in  view, 
Huzzah  !  says  brave  Perry,  huzzah  !  says  his  crew. 
And  then  for  the  chase,  boys,  with  our  brave  little  crew, 
We  fell  in  with  the  bullies  and  gave  them  "burgoo." 

Though  the  force  was  unequal,  determined  to  fight, 
We  brought  them  to  action  before  it  was  night ; 
We  let  loose  our  thunder,  our  bullets  did  fly, 
"Now  give  them  your  shot,  boys,"  our  commander  did 
cry. 

We  gave  them  a  broadside,  our  cannon  to  try, 
"  Well  done,"  says  brave  Perry,  "  for  quarter  they  '11  cry, 
Shot  well  home,  my  brave  boys,  they  shortly  shall  see. 
That  quite  brave  as  they  are,  still  braver  are  we." 

Then  we  drew  up  our  squadron,  each  man  full  of  fight, 
And  put  the  proud  Britons  in  a  terrible  plight, 
The  brave  Perr^^'s  movements  will  prove  fully  as  bold. 
As  the  fam'd  Admiral  Nelson's  prowess  of  old. 

The  conflict  was  sharp,  boys,  each  man  to  his  guns, 
For  our  country,  her  glory,  the  vict'ry  was  won. 
So  six  sail  (the  whole  fleet)  was  our  fortune  to  take. 
Here  's  a  health  to  brave  Perry,  who  governs  the  Lake. 

1813. 


YANKEE  THUNDERvS. 

BRITANNIA'S  gallant  streamers, 
Float  proudly  o'er  the  tide, 
And  fairly  wave  Columbia's  stripes, 

In  battle  side  by  side. 
And  ne'er  did  bolder  seamen  meet, 

Where  ocean's  surges  pour  ; 
O'er  the  tide  now  they  ride, 

While  the  bell' wing  thunders  roar, 
While  the  cannon's  fire  is  flashing  fast 

And  the  bell'wing  thunders  roar. 

When  Yankee  meets  the  Briton, 

Whose  blood  congenial  flows. 
By  Ileav'n  created  to  be  friends. 

By  fortune  rendered  foes ; 
Hard  then  must  be  the  battle  fray, 

Ere  well  the  fight  is  o'er; 
Now  they  ride,  side  by  side, 

AMiile  the  bell'wing  thunders  roar. 
While  her  cannon's  fire  is  flashing  fast 

And  the  bell'wing  thunders  roar. 

X2S 


l^anhce  ^bunOcrs  129 

still,  still,  for  uoble  England 

Bold  D'Acres'  streamers  fly  ; 
And  for  Columbia,  gallant  Hull's 

As  proudly  and  as  high  ; 
Now  louder  rings  the  battle  din, 

And  thick  the  volumes  pour  ; 
Still  they  ride,  side  by  side, 

While  the  bell' wing  thunders  roar. 
While  the  cannon's  fire  is  flashing  fast, 

And  the  bell' wing  thunders  roar. 

Why  lulls  Britannia's  thunder. 

That  waked  the  wat'ry  war  ? 
Why  stays  the  gallant  Giierrihr, 

Whose  streamers  waved  so  fair  ? 
That  streamer  drinks  the  ocean  wave, 

That  warrior's  fight  is  o'er  ! 
Still  the}^  ride,  side  by  side. 

While  the  bell' wing  thunders  roar, 
While  the  cannon's  fire  is  flashing  fast, 

And  the  bell'wing  thunders  roar. 

Hark  !  't  is  the  Briton's  lee  gun  ! 

Ne'er  bolder  warrior  kneeled  ! 
And  ne'er  to  gallant  mariners 

Did  braver  seamen  yield. 
Proud  be  the  sires,  whose  hardy  boys 

Then  fell  to  fight  no  more  : 


I30  XJankce  ^bunOers 

With  the  brave,  mid  the  wave  ; 

When  the  cannon's  thunders  roar, 
Their  spirits  then  shall  trim  the  blast, 

And  swell  the  thunder's  roar. 

Vain  -were  the  cheers  of  Britons, 

Their  hearts  did  vainly  swell, 
Where  virtue,  skill,  and  bravery 

With  gallant  ^Morris  fell. 
That  heart  so  well  in  battle  tried, 

Along  the  Moorish  shore, 
And  again  o'er  the  main, 

When  Columbia's  thunders  roar, 
Shall  prove  its  Yankee  spirit  true, 

When  Columbia's  thunder's  roar. 

Hence  be  our  floating  bulwark 

Those  oaks  our  mountains  yield ; 
'T  is  mighty  Heaven's  plain  decree — 

Then  take  the  wat'ry  field  ! 
To  ocean's  farthest  barrier  then 

Your  whit'ning  sail  shall  pour; 
Safe  they  '11  ride  o'er  the  tide, 

While  Columbia's  thunders  roar, 
While  her  cannon's  fire  is  flashing  fast, 

And  her  Yankee  thunders  roar. 


1813. 


7i?Ji^:^%f^^: 


tiijaf 


'm^'<S)¥wm^'T> 


YE   PARLIAMENT    OF   ENGLAND. 

[This  rudely  constructed  song— evidently  composed 
in  the  forecastle,  where  poets  are  not  exigent  in  the 
matter  of  rhymes,  is  included  in  this  collection,  notwith- 
standing its  imperfections,  because  of  the  hold  it  took 
upon  the  minds  of  patriotic  people.  It  was  still  a 
favorite  song  in  many  parts  of  the  country  as  late  as 
1859,  ^^d  it  is  valuable  as  a  reflection  of  the  spirit 
in  which  the  War  of  1812-14  was  regarded  by  those 
who  fought  it. — Editor.] 


YE  parliament  of  England, 
You  lords  and  commons,  too, 
Consider  well  what  you  're  about. 
And  what  you  're  going  to  do  ; 
You  're  now  to  fight  with  Yankees, 

I  'm  sure  you  '11  rue  the  day. 
You  roused  the  sons  of  liberty. 
In  North  America. 

You  first  confined  our  commerce, 
And  said  our  ships  shant  trade, 

131 


132  l?c  parliament  ot  Hncjlan^ 


You  next  impressed  our  seamen, 
And  used  them  as  your  slaves  ; 

You  then  insulted  Rogers, 

While  ploughing  o'er  the  main, 

And  had  not  we  declared  war, 
\'ou  'd  have  done  it  o'er  again. 

You  thought  our  frigates  were  l)ut  few 

And  Y'aukees  could  not  fight, 
Until  brave  Hull  your  Guerrihr  took 

And  banished  her  from  your  sight. 
The  Wasp  then  took  your  Frolic, 

We  '11  nothing  say  to  that, 
The  Poidicrs  being  of  the  line, 

Of  course  she  took  her  back. 

The  next,  your  Macedonian, 

No  finer  ship  could  swim, 
Decatur  took  her  gilt-work  off. 

And  then  he  sent  her  in. 
The  Java,  by  a  Y^ankee  ship 

Was  sunk,  you  all  must  know  ; 
The  Peacock  fine,  in  all  her  plume. 

By  Lawrence  down  did  go. 

Then  next  you  sent  your  Boxer, 

To  box  us  all  about, 
But  we  had  an  Enterprisini^  brig 

That  beat  your  Boxer  out ; 


15c  parliament  of  Bnglan^  133 

We  boxed  her  up  to  Portland, 

And  moored  her  off  the  town, 
To  show  the  sons  of  liberty 

The  Boxer  of  renown. 

The  next  upon  Lake  Erie, 
Where  Perry  had  some  fun. 

You  own  he  beat  your  naval  force, 
And  caused  them  for  to  run  ; 

This  was  to  you  a  sore  defeat. 
The  like  ne'er  known  before — 

Your  British  squadron  beat  complete- 
Some  took,  some  run  ashore. 

There  's  Rogers  in  the  President, 

Will  burn,  sink,  and  destroy  ; 
The  Congress,  on  the  Brazil  coast, 

Your  commerce  will  annoy  ; 
The  Essex,  in  the  South  Seas, 

Will  put  out  all  your  lights. 
The  flag  she  waves  at  her  mast-head— 

"  Free  Trade  and  Sailor's  Rights." 

Lament,  ye  sons  of  Britain, 

Far  distant  is  the  day. 
When  you  '11  regain  by  British  force 

What  you  've  lost  in  America  ; 
Go  tell  your  king  and  parliament, 

By  all  the  world  't  is  known, 


34  Wc  parliament  ot  JEmlanb 

That  British  force,  by  sea  and  land, 
By  Yankees  is  o'erthrown. 

Use  every  endeavor, 

And  strive  to  make  a  peace, 
For  Yankee  ships  are  building  fast, 

Their  nav'y  to  increase  ; 
They  will  enforce  their  commerce, 

The  laws  by  heaven  are  made, 
That  Yankee  ships  in  time  of  peace. 

To  any  port  may  trade. 


1813. 


COMRADES  !  JOIN   THE    FLAG    Ol*    GLORY 

COMRADES  !  join  the  flas<  of  .i.^lory, 
Cheerily  tread  the  deck  of  fame, 
Earn  a  place  in  future  story, 
Seek  and  win  a  warrior's  name. 

Yankee  tars  can  laugh  at  dangers, 
While  the  roaring  mountain  wave 

Teems  with  carnage — they  are  strangers 
To  a  deed  that  is  not  brave. 

May  our  bannered  stars  as  ever 

Splendidly  o'er  freemen  burn, 
Till  the  night  of  war  is  over, 

Till  the  dawn  of  peace  return. 


1813. 


f35 


^B  JgSl^-  ja     'WMy /^ 

^^^^^3 

^5is^i_^: -j:^^-^j 

OUR    NAVY. 

OX  wings  of  glory,  swift  as  light, 
The  sound  of  battle  came, 
The  gallant  Hull  in  glorious  fight 
Has  won  the  wreaths  of  fame. 

ChorHs. — Let  brave  Columbia's  noble  band 
With  hearts  united  rise, 
Swear  to  protect  their  native  land 
Till  sacred  freedom  dies. 

Let  brave  Decatur's  dauntless  breast 
With  patriot  ardor  glow, 

And  in  the  garb  of  vict'ry  drest 
Triumphant  blast  the  foe. 
Chorus. — Let  brave,  etc. 


And  Rogers  with  his  gallant  crew 
O'er  the  wide  ocean  ride, 

To  prove  their  loyal  spirits  true. 
And  crush  old  Albion's  pride. 
Chorus. — Let  brave,  etc. 

136 


Ouv  Irtav^  137 


Then  hail  another  Gucn'ii'rr  there, 

With  roaring  broadsides  hail  ; 
And  while  the  thunder  rends  the  air 
See  Briton's  sons  turn  pale. 
Chorus. — Let  brave,  etc. 

"  The  day  is  ours,  my  boys,  huzza  !  " 

The  great  commander  cries, 
While  all  responsive  roar  huzza  ! 
With  pleasure-sparkling  eyes. 
Chorus. — Let  brave  etc. 

Thus  shall  Columbia's  fame  be  spread. 
Her  heaven-born  eagle  soar  ; 

Her  deeds  of  glory  shall  be  read 
When  tyrants  are  no  more. 
Chorus. — Let  brave,  etc. 


1813. 


^5^ 


THE    vSTAR-SPANGLEI)    BANNER. 

By   FRANCIS   SCOTT    KKY. 

[Written  during  the  bombardment  of  Fort  ]McHenry, 
below  Baltimore,  by  the  British  fleet,  1814,  the  author 
being  at  the  time  forcibly  detained  on  board  one  of 
the  British  ships. — Editor.] 

OvSAY,  can  3'ou  see  by  the  dawn's  early  light. 
What  so  proudly  we  hailed  at  the  twilight's  last 
gleaming  ? 
Whose  broad  stripes  and  bright  stars  through  the  perilous 
fight, 
On  the  ramparts  we  watched  were  so  gallantly  stream- 
ing ; 
And  the  rocket's  red  glare,  the  bombs  bursting  in  air. 
Gave  proof  through   the   night   that   our  flag  was  still 
there. 
O  say,  does  the  star-spangled  banner  yet  wave 
O'er  the  land  of  the  free  and  the  home  of  the  brave? 

138 


XTbe  Star*SpancjIcC»  J5anncr 


139 


F^^^. 


On  the  shore  dimly  seen,  through  the  mists  of  the  deep, 
AVhere  the  foe's  haughty  host  in  dread  silence  reposes, 

WTiat  is  that  which  the  breeze,  o'er  the  towering  steep, 
As  it  fitfully  blows,  half  conceals,  half  discloses  ? 

Now  it  catches  the  gleam  of  the  morning's  first  beam, 

In  full  glory  reflected  now  shines  on  the  stream. 
'T  is  the  star-spangled  banner  !  O  long  may  it  wave 
O'er  the  land  of  the  free  and  the  home  of  the  brave  ! 


I40  Zbc  StarsSpancilcD  JBanncr 


And  where  is  that  band  who  so  vauntingly  swore 
That  the  havoc  of  war  and  the  battle's  confusion 

A  home  and  a  country  shall  leave  us  no  more? 
Their  blood  has  washed  out  their  foul  footsteps'  polhi- 
tion. 

No  refui^e  could  save  the  hireling  and  slave, 

From  the  terror  of  death  and  the  gloom  of  the  grave. 
And  the  star-spangled  banner  in  triumph  shall  wave 
O'er  the  land  of  the  free  and  the  home  of  the  brave  ! 


O  thus  be  it  ever  when  freemen  shall  stand 

Between  their  loved  homes  and  the  war's  desolation  ; 

Blest  with  vict'ry  and  peace,   maj'  the  heaven-rescued 
land, 
Praise  the  power  that  has  made  and  preserved  us  a  na- 
tion. 

Then  conquer  we  must,  for  our  cause  it  is  just. 

And  this  be  our  motto  :  "In  God  is  our  trust." 
And  the  star-spangled  banner  in  triumph  shall  wave 
O'er  the  land  of  the  free  and  the  home  of  the  brave. 


^ 

M 

M 

^^^ 

^^^ 

^^ 

^^m 

^^^^^^^1 

^^^ 

^^M 

i^^ 

^^^^^^^j 

SEA  AND  LAND  VICTORIKvS. 

(From  "The  Naval  Songster,"  1815.) 

WITH  half  the  Western  world  at  stake, 
See  Perry  on  the  midland  lake, 
The  unequal  combat  dare  ; 
Unawed  by  vastly  stronger  pow'rs, 
He  met  the  foe  and  made  him  ours, 
And  closed  the  savage  war. 

Macdonough,  too,  on  Lake  Champlain, 
In  ships  outnumbered,  guns,  and  men. 

Saw  dangers  thick  increase  ; 
His  trust  in  God  and  virtue's  cause 
He  conquer'd  in  the  lion's  jaws. 

And  led  the  way  to  peace. 

To  sing  each  valiant  hero's  name 
Whose  deeds  have  swelled  the  files  of  fame, 
Requires  immortal  powers  ; 
141 


142  Sea  an^  XanC*  Uictoric^ 


Columbia's  warriors  never  yield 
To  equal  force  by  sea  or  field, 
Her  eagle  never  cowers. 

Long  as  Niagara's  cataract  roars 
( )r  Erie  laves  our  Northern  shores, 

Great  Brown,  thy  fame  shall  rise  ; 
Outnumber' d  by  a  veteran  host 
Of  conquering  heroes,  Britain's  boast — 

Conquest  was  there  thy  prize. 

At  Plattsburg,  see  the  Spartan  band. 
Where  gallant  Macomb  held  command, 

The  unequal  host  oppose  ; 
Provost  confounded,  vanquished  flies. 
Convinced  that  numbers  won't  suffice 

Where  Freemen  are  the  foes. 

Our  songs  to  noblest  strains  we  '11  raise 
While  we  attempt  thy  matchless  praise, 

Carolina's  godlike  son  ; 
While  Mississippi  rolls  his  flood, 
Or  Freemen's  hearts  move  patriots'  bloodj 

The  palm  shall  be  thine  own. 

At  Orleans — lo  !  a  savage  band. 
In  countless  numbers  gain  the  strand, 
**  Beauty  and  spoil  "  the  word — 


Sea  anO  UanO  Dietetics  143 

There  Jackson  with  his  fearless  few, 

The  iuvincibles  by  thousands  slew, 

And  dire  destruction  ])oured. 

O  Britain  !  when  the  tale  is  told 
Of  Jackson's  deeds  by  fame  enrolled, 

Should  grief  and  madness  rise. 
Remember  God,  the  avenger,  reigns, 
Who  witnessed  Havre's  smoking  plains. 

And  Hampton's  female  cries. 


OLD  IRONvSIDES. 

Bv    OIJV'KR   WKNDKLI^     HOI^MKS. 

[This  poem  was  iuspired  by  the  aniiouuceineiit  that 
the  frigate  Constitutiott  was  to  be  dismantled.  Though 
written  later  it  belongs  among  the  poems  of  the  War  of 
1812,  as  the  Consiittition's  isiniQ  was  won  in  that  war. — 
Editor.] 

AY,  tear  her  tattered  ensign  down  ! 
Long  has  it  waved  on  high, 
And  many  an  eye  has  dimmed  to  see 

That  banner  in  the  sky  ; 
Beneath  it  rung  the  battle  shout, 

And  burst  the  cannon's  roar  ; — 
The  meteor  of  the  ocean  air 
Shall  sweep  the  clouds  no  more. 

Iler  deck,  once  red  with  heroes'  l)lood, 
Where  knelt  the  vanquished  foe, 

When  winds  were  hurraing  o'er  the  flood, 
And  waves  were  white  below, 

144 


OIC>  "ffronsiOea 


145 


No  more  shall  feel  the  victor's  tread, 
Or  know  the  conquered  knee  ; — 

The  harpies  of  the  shore  shall  pluck 
The  eagle  of  the  sea  ! 


1836. 


O  better  that  her  shattered  hulk 

Should  sink  beneath  the  wave  ; 
Her  thunders  shook  the  mighty  deep, 

And  there  should  be  her  grave  ; 
Nail  to  the  mast  her  holy  flag, 

Set  every  threadbare  sail, 
And  give  her  to  the  god  of  storms, 

The  lightning  and  the  gale  ! 


]\IONTEREY. 
3y  Charles  Fenno  Hoffman. 

ere    not  many — we 
ho  stood 
Before  the  iron  sleet  that  day: 
Yet    many    a    gallant     spirit 

would 
Give  half  his  years  if  but  he 

could 
Have  with  us  been  at  Montere}-. 

Now  here,  now  there,  the  shot  it  hail'd 

In  deadly  drifts  of  fiery  spray, 
Yet  not  a  single  soldier  quail' d 
When  wounded  comrades  round  them  wail'd 

Their  dying  shout  at  Monterey. 
149 


I50  /Iboiitcrcg 


And  on — still  on  our  column  kept 

Through  walls  of  flame  its  withering  way 
Where  fell  the  dead,  the  living stept, 
Still  charging  on  the  guns  which  swept 
The  slippery  streets  of  Monterey. 

The  foe  himself  recoil'd  aghast. 

When,  striking  where  he  strongest  lay. 
We  swoop'd  his  flanking  batteries  past, 
And  braving  full  their  nmrderous  blast, 
Storm'd  home  the  towers  of  Monterey. 

Our  banners  on  those  turrets  wave. 

And  there  our  evening  bugles  play : 
Where  orange-boughs  above  their  grave 
Keep  green  the  memory  of  the  brave 
Who  fought  and  fell  at  Monterey. 

We  are  not  many — we  who  press' d 

Beside  the  brave  who  fell  that  day — 
But  who  of  us  has  not  confess'd 
He  'd  rather  share  their  warrior  rest 
Than  not  have  been  at  Monterev  ? 


BUBNA  VISTA. 

[By  some  strange  oversight,  this  fine  1)allad  appears  in 
none  of  the  popular  collections.  So  far  as  the  editor  can 
discover,  indeed,  it  exists  nowhere  in  print  except  in  a 
volume  privately  printed  by  General  Pike  some  years  ago, 
and  to  his  courtesy  the  editor  is  indebted  for  the  copy 
from  which  the  piece  is  here  reproduced. — Editor.] 


151 


BUEXA  VISTA. 
BY    AI.BERT     PIKE 


FROM  the  Rio  Grande's  waters  to  the  icy  lakes  of 
Maine, 

Let  all  exult !  for  we  have  met  the  enemy  again  ; 

Beneath  their  stem  old  mountains  we  have  met  them  in 
their  pride, 

And  rolled  from  Buexa  Vista  back  the  battle's  blood} 
tide  ; 

Where  the  enemy  came  surging  swift,  like  the  Missis- 
sippi's flood, 

And  the  reaper.  Death,  with  strong  arms  swung  his  sickle 
red  with  blood. 


152 


IBucna  Dista  153 


Santana  boasted  loudly  that,   before   two  hours   were 

past, 
His  Lancers  throuj^h  vSaltillo  should  i)ursue  us  fierce  and 

fast  :— 
On  comes  his  solid  infantry,  line  marching  after  line  ; 
Lo  !  their  i^reat  standards  in  the  sun  like  sheets  of  silver 

shine  : 
With  thousands  upon  thousands, — yea,  with  more  than 

three  to  one, — 
Their  forests  of  bright  bayonets   fierce-flashing  in  the 

sun. 

Lo  !  Guanajuato's  regiment  ;  Morelos'  boasted  corps, 
And    Guadalajara's   chosen   troops  ! — all    veterans   tried 

before. 
Lo !  galloping  upon  the  right  four  thousand  lances  gleam 
Where,   floating  in  the   morning-wind,   their   blood-red 

pennons  stream  ; 
And  here  his  stern  artillery  climbs  up  the  broad  plateau  : 
To-day  he  means  to  strike  at  us  an  overwhelming  blow. 

Now,  Wooiv,  hold  strongly  to  the  heights  !  for,  lo  !  the 

mighty  tide 
Comes,  thundering  like  an  avalanche,  deep,  terrible  and 

wide. 
Now,  Ii^iviNOis,  stand  steady  !    Now,  Kkntucky,  to  their 

aid! 
For  a  portion  of  our  line,  alas  !  is  broken  and  dismayed  : 


154  :ft3ucna  Uista 


Great  bands  of  shameless  fu^tives  are  fleeinjf  from  the 

field, 
And  the  day  is  lost,  if  Illinois  and  brave  Kcntncky  yield. 

One   of  O'Brien's  guns  is  gone  ! — On,    on    their  masses 

drift, 
Till  their  cavalry  and  infantry  outflank  us  on  the  left  ; 
Our  light  troops,  driven  from  the  hills,  retreat  in  wild 

dismay, 
And  round  us  gather,  thick  and  dark,  the  ^Mexican  arrav. 
SanTANA  thinks  the  day  is  gained  ;  for,  now  approaching 

near, 
Minon's  dark  cloud  of  Lancers  sternly  menaces  our  rear. 

Now,   Lincoln,   gallant  gentleman,  lies  dead  upon  the 

field, 
Who  strove  to  stay  those  cravens,  when  before  the  storm 

they  reeled. 
Fire,  Washington,  fire  fast  and  true  !     I'ire,  Shkrman, 

fast  and  far  ! 
Lo  !  Bragg  comes  thundering  to  the  front,  to  breast  the 

adverse  war  ! 
Santana  thinks  the  day  is  gained  !     On,  on  his  masses 

crowd. 
And  the  roar  of  Ixittle  swells   again   more  lerri])le  and 

loud. 

Not  yet!    Our  lirave  old  (yeneral  comes  to  regain  the 

day  ; 
Khntitckv,  to  the  rescue  !     Mississippi,  lo  the  frav  ! 


JBucna  Dlsta  155 


Again  our  line  advances !  Gallant  Davis  fronts  the  foe, 
And  back  before  his  rifles,  in  red  waves  the  Lancers  flow. 
Upon  them  yet  once  more,  ye  brave  !     The  avalanche  is 

stayed  ! 
Back  roll  the  Aztec  multitudes,  all  broken  and  dismayed. 

Ride !  May  ! — To  Buena  Vista  !  for  the  Lancers  gain  our 
rear, 

And  we  have  few  troops  there  to  check  their  vehement 
career. 

Charge,  Arkansas  !  Kentucky,  charge  !  YEr<i*,  Portkr, 
Vaughan,  are  slain, 

But  the  shattered  troops  cling  desperately  unto  that 
crimsoned  plain ; 

Till,  with  the  Lancers  intermixed,  pursuing  and  pursued, 

Westward,  in  combat  hot  and  close,  drifts  off  the  mul- 
titude. 

And  May  comes  charging  from  the  hills  with  his  ranks  of 

flaming  steel, 
While  shattered  with  a  sudden  fire,  the  foe  already  reel  : 
They  flee  amain  ! — Now  to  the  left,  to  stay  the  torrent 

there, 
Or  else  the  day  is  surely  lost,  in  horror  and  despair ! 
For  their  hosts  pour  swiftly  onward,  like  a  river  in  the 

spring. 
Our    flank    is    turned,    and    on    our    left    their   cannon 

thundering. 


15^)  JBucna  IDidta 


Now.    >^ood    Artillery !    bold    Dragoons  !    Steady,  brave 

hearts,  be  calm  ! 
Through  rain,  cold  hail,  and  thunder,   now  ner\e  each 

gallant  arm  ! 
What  though  their  shot  fall  round  us  here,  yet  thicker 

than  the  hail  ? 
We  '11  stand  against  them,  as  the  rock  stands  firm  against 

the  gale. 
Lo  !  their  battery  is  silenced  !   but  our  iron  sleet  still 

showers  : 
They  falter,  halt,  retreat  ! — Hurrah  !  the  glorious  day  is 

ours  ! 

In  front,  too,  has  the  fight  gone  well,  where  upon  gallant 

Lane, 
And  on  stout  Mississippi,  the  thick  Lancers  charged  in 

vain  : 
Ah  !  brave  Third  Indiana  !  you  have  nobly  wiped  away 
The  reproach   that   through   another  corps  befell  your 

State  to-day ; 
For  back,  all  broken  and  dismayed,  before  your  storm  of 

fire, 
Santana's  boasted  chivalry,  a  shattered  wreck,  retire. 

Now  charge  again,  Santana  !  or  the  day  is  surely  lost — 
For  back,  like  broken  waves,  along  our  left  your  honles 

are  tossed. 
Still  faster  roar  his  batteries, — his  whole  reserve  moves 

on  ; 


JBuena  IDlsta  157 


More  work  remains  for  us  to  do,  ere  the  good  fight  is 

won. 
Now  for  your  wives  and  children  men  !  Stand  steady  yet 

once  more  ! 
Fight  for  your  lives  and  honors  !     Fight  as  you  never 

fought  before  ! 


Ho  !  Hardin  breasts  it  bravel}^  !  and  heroic  BissELiv 
there 

Stands  firm  before  the  storm  of  balls  that  fill  the  aston- 
ished air  : 

The  Lancers  dash  upon  them  too  !  The  foe  swarm  ten  to 
one  : 

Hardin  is  slain  ;  McKek  and  CIvAY  the  last  time  see  the 
sun  : 

And  many  another  gallant  heart,  in  that  last  desperate 
fray, 

Grew  cold,  its  last  thought  turning  to  its  loved  ones  far 
awa}'. 

Speed,  speed,  Artillery  !  to  the  front  ! — for  the  hurricane 

of  fire 
Crushes  those  noble  regiments,  reluctant  to  retire  ! 
Speed  swiftly !   Gallop  !   Ah  !  they  come  !    Again  Bragg 

climbs  the  ridge, 
And  his  grape  sweeps  down  the  swarming  foe,  as  a  strong 

man  moweth  sedge  : 


158  .iGiicna  Ui^ta 


Thus  bafilcd  in  their  last  attack,  coinpellc<l  perforce  to 

yield, 
Still   inenacinj^   in    firm   array,   their  colunius   leave    the 

field. 

The  guns  still  roared  at  intervals  ;  hut  silence  fell  at 
last, 

And  on  the  dead  and  dying  came  the  evening  shadows 
fast. 

And  then  above  the  mountains  rose  the  cold  moon's  sil- 
ver shield, 

And  patiently  and  pitying  she  looked  upon  the  field. 

While  careless  of  his  wounded,  and  neglectful  of  his 
dead, 

Despairingly  and  sullenly  by  night  SanTana  fled. 

And  thus  on  Buena  Vista's  heights  a  long  day's  work 

was  done, 
And  thus  our  brave  old  (General  another  battle  won. 
Still,  still  our  glorious  banner  waves,  unstained  by  flight 

or  shame, 
And  the  Mexicans  among  their  hills  still  tremble  at  our 

name. 

So,    HONOR    UNTO   THOSE    THAT    STOOD  !      DISGRACE    TO 

THOSE  THAT  FI.ED  ! 
And     EVERLASTING     GLORY      UNTO     BUENA     VISTA'S 

DEAD  ! 

February  jS,  1847. 


THE  BIVOUAC  OF  THE  DEAD. 

By  THEODORIC  O'HARA. 

[Originally  written  on  the  occasion  of  the  erection  of  a 
monument  to  the  Kentucky  volunteers  who  fell  at  Buena 
Vista. — Editor.  ] 

THE  muflfled  drum's  sad  roll  has  beat 
The  soldier's  last  tattoo  ; 
No  more  on  Life's  parade  shall  meet 

That  brave  and  fallen  few. 
On  Fame's  eternal  camping-i^round 

Their  silent  tents  are  spread, 
And  Glory  guards,  with  solemn  round, 
The  bivouac  of  the  dead. 

No  rumor  of  the  foe's  advance 

Now  swells  upon  the  wind  ; 
No  troubled  thought  at  midnight  haunts 

Of  loved  ones  left  behind  ; 
No  vision  of  the  morrow's  strife 

The  warrior's  dream  alarms  ; 
No  braying  horn  nor  screaming  fife 

At  dawn  shall  call  to  arms. 

159 


:6o  Zbc  JSivouac  ot  tbe  DcaD 


Their  shivered  swords  are  red  with  rust  ; 

Their  phinied  heads  are  bowed  ; 
Their  hauf^hty  banner,  trailed  in  dust, 

Is  now  their  martial  shroud. 
And  plenteous  funeral  tears  have  washed 

The  red  stains  from  each  brow, 
And  the  proud  forms,  by  battle  gashed, 

Are  free  from  anguish  now. 


The  neighing  troop,  the  flashing  blade. 

The  bugle's  stirring  blast. 
The  charge,  the  dreadful  cannonade. 

The  din  and  shout  are  past ; 
Nor  war's  wild  note,  nor  glory's  peal, 

Shall  thrill  with  fierce  delight 
Those  breasts  that  nevermore  may  feel 

The  rapture  of  the  fight. 


Like  the  fierce  northern  hurricane 

That  sweeps  his  great  plateau, 
Flushed  with  the  triumph  yet  to  gain. 

Came  down  the  serried  foe. 
Who  heard  the  thunder  of  the  fray 

Break  o'er  the  field  beneath. 
Knew  well  the  w'atchword  of  that  day 

Was  "  Victor v  or  Death." 


Zbc  mvownc  of  tbc  DeaD  i6i 


Loiii]^  had  the  doubtful  conflict  raged 

O'er  all  that  stricken  plain, 
For  never  fiercer  fight  had  waged 

The  vengeful  blood  of  Spain  ; 
And  still  the  storm  of  battle  blew, 

Still  swelled  the  gory  tide  ; 
Not  long  our  stout  old  chieftain  knew, 

Such  odds  his  strength  could  bide. 


'T  was  in  that  hour  his  stern  command 

Called  to  a  martyr's  grave 
The  flower  of  his  beloved  land, 

The  nation's  flag  to  save. 
By  rivers  of  their  fathers'  gore 

His  first-born  laurels  grew 
And  well  he  deemed  the  sons  would  pour 

There  lives  for  glory  too. 


Full  many  a  norther's  breath  has  swept, 

O'er  Angostura's  plain — 
And  long  the  pitying  sky  has  wept 

Above  its  mouldered  slain. 
The  raven's  scream  or  eagle's  flight 

Or  shepherd's  pensive  lay, 
Alone  awakes  each  sullen  height 

That  frowned  o'er  that  dread  fray. 


[62  Cbc  JGirouac  of  tbc  2)cac) 

Sons  of  the  Dark  and  Bloody  ground, 

Ye  must  not  slumber  there, 
Where  stranger  steps  and  tongues  resound 

Along  the  heedless  air. 
Your  own  proud  land's  heroic  soil 

Shall  be  your  fitter  grave  ; 
She  claims  from  war  his  richest  spoil — 

The  ashes  of  her  brave. 


Thus  'neath  their  parent  turf  they  rest. 

Far  from  the  gorj'  field, 
Borne  to  a  Spartan  mother's  l^reast 

On  many  a  bloody  shield  ; 
The  sunshine  of  their  native  sky 

Smiles  sadly  on  them  here, 
And  kindred  eyes  and  hearts  watch  by 

The  heroes'  sepulchre. 


Rest  on,  embalmed  and  sainted  dead  ! 

Dear  as  the  blood  ye  gave. 
No  impious  footstep  here  shall  tread 

The  herbage  of  your  grave  ; 
Nor  shall  your  story  be  forgot, 

While  Fame  her  record  keeps, 
Or  Honor  points  the  hallowed  spot 

Where  Valor  proudly  sleeps. 


Zbc  JBivouac  of  tbc  DeaC>  163 

Yon  marble  minstrel's  voiceless  stone 

In  deathless  song  shall  tell 
When  many  a  vanished  age  hath  flown, 

The  story  how  ye  fell ; 
Nor  wreck,  nor  change,  nor  winter's  blight, 

Nor  Time's  remorseless  doom, 
Shall  dim  one  ray  of  glory's  light 

That  gilds  your  deathless  tomb. 


•^-\->£L 


165 


BROTHER  JONATHAN'vS  LAMENT  FOR  SISTER 
CAROLINE. 

By  OI.IVER  WENDELT.  HOLMES. 

(Written   in   December,   i860,  when  South  Carolina   adopted    the 
Ordinance  of  Secession.) 

SHE  lias  gone, — she  has  left  us  iu  passion  and  pride — 
Our  stormy-browed  sister,  so  long  at  our  side  ! 
She  has  torn  her  own  star  from  our  firmament's  glow, 
And  turned  on  her  brother  the  face  of  a  foe  ! 

O  Caroline,  Caroline,  child  of  the  sun. 
We  can  never  forget  that  our  hearts  have  been  one, — 
Our  foreheads  both  sprinkled  in  Liberty's  name, 
From  the  fountain  of  blood  with  the  finger  of  flame  ! 

You  were  always  too  ready  to  fire  at  a  touch  ; 
But  we  said:  "  She  's  a  beauty — she  does  not  mean  much." 
We  have  scowled  when  you  uttered  some  turbulent  threat ; 
But  Friendship  still  whispered:  "  Forgive  and  forget." 

167 


i68  JBrotbcr  5onatban*6  Xamcnt 


Has  our  love  all  died  out  ?     Have  its  altars  grown  cold  ? 
Has  the  curse  come  at  last  which  the  fathers  foretold  ? 
Theu  Nature  must  teach  us  the  strength  of  the  chain 
That  her  petulant  children  would  sever  in  vain. 

They  may  fight  till  the  buzzards  are  gorged  with  their 

spoil, — 
Till  the  harvest  grows  black  as  it  rots  in  the  soil, 
Till  the  wolves    and    the  catamounts  troop  from  their 

caves, 
And  the  shark  tracks  the  pirate,  the  lord  of  the  waves  : 

In  vain  is  the  strife  !  When  its  fury  is  past, 
Their  fortunes  must  flow  in  one  channel  at  last. 
As  the  torrents  that  rush  from  the  mountains  of  snow 
Roll  mingled  in  peace  in  the  valleys  below. 

Our  Union  is  river,  lake,  ocean,  and  sky  ; 

IMan  breaks  not  the  medal  when  God  cuts  the  die  ! 

Though    darkened    with    sulphur,  though    cloven    witli 

steel, 
The  blue  arch  will  brighten,  the  waters  will  heal  ! 

O  Caroline,  Caroline,  child  of  the  sun, 
There  are  battles  with  fate  that  can  never  be  won  ! 
The  .star-flowering  banner  nuist  never  be  furled, 
For  its  blossoms  of  light  are  the  hope  of  the  world  ! 


JSrotbcr  5onatban'6  lament 


i6g 


Go,  then,  our  rash  vsister,  afar  and  aloof, — 

Run  wild  in  the  sunshine  away  from  our  roof; 

But  when  your  heart  aches  and  your  feet  have  grown 

sore, 
Remember  the  pathway  that  leads  to  our  door  ! 


THE   TWELFTH   OF   APRH.. 

A.D.,    lS6l. 
By  EDMUND   CLARENCE   STEDMAN. 

[Peculiar  interest  attache:  to  this  piece  as  the  first 
poem  written  after  the  actual  outbreak  of  the  Civil  War 
and  inspired  by  its  events.  The  poem  appeared  in  the 
evening  edition  of  the  New  York  World,  on  April  i6, 
iS6i.— Editor.] 

CAINIE  the  morning  of  that  day, 
When  the  God  to  whom  we  pra\-, 
Gave  the  soul  of  Henry  Clay 

To  the  land  ; 
How  we  loved  him— living,  dying! 
But  his  birthday  banners  flying, 
Saw  us  asking  and  replying, 
Hand  to  hand. 

For  we  knew  that  far  away, 
Round  the  fort  at  Charleston  bay, 
Hung  the  dark  impending  fray, 
Soon  to  fall ; 
170 


Ube  ^vvelftb  ot  Bpril 


171 


And  that  vSumter's  brave  defender 
Had  the  summons  to  surrender  : 
Seventy  loyal  hearts  and  tender — 
That  was  all. 


\^J^^^^^ 


J 


And  we  knew  the  April  sun 
Lit  the  length  of  many  a  gun- 
Hosts  of  batteries  to  the  one 
Island  crag ; 


172  Zbc  Cwclttb  ot  Bpril 


Guns  and  mortars  grimly  frowning, 
Johnson,  Moultrie,  Pinckney,  crowniui^, 
And  ten  thousand  men  disowning 
The  old  flag. 

O  the  fury  of  the  fight 

Even  then  was  at  its  height ! 

Yet  no  breath  from  noon  till  night 

Reached  us  here  ; 
We  had  almost  ceased  to  wonder, 
And  the  day  had  faded  under, 
When — the  echo  of  the  thunder 

Filled  each  ear  ! 


Then  our  hearts  more  fiercely  heat. 
As  we  crowded  on  the  street, 
Plot  to  gather  and  repeat 

All  the  tale  ; 
All  the  doubtful  chances  turning. 
Till  our  souls  with  shame  were  burning, 
As  if  all  our  bitter  j-earning 

Could  avail  ! 


Who  had  fired  the  earliest  gun  ? 
Was  the  fort  by  traitors  won  ? 
Was  there  succor  ?  What  was  done, 
Who  could  know? 


Zbc  Q;wcUtb  of  Bpril  173 

And  once  more  onr  thoughts  would  wander 
To  the  gallant,  lone  commander, 
On  his  battered  ramparts  grander 
Than  the  foe. 

Not  too  long  the  brave  shall  wait  : 
On  their  own  heads  be  their  fate. 
Who  against  the  hallowed  State 

Dare  begin  ; 
Flag  defied  and  compact  riven  ! 
In  the  record  of  high  Heaven, 
Plow  shall  southern  men  be  shriven 

For  the  sin  ! 


MEN  OP  THE  NORTH  AND  WEST. 

l$v  RICHARD  HKNRY  STODDARD. 

[This  poem  was  the  secoud  piece  that  appeared  in 
print  after  the  fall  of  Fort  Sumter.  It  was  published  in 
the  World  on  the  day  after  the  appearance  of  Mr.  Sted- 
man's  "The  Twelfth  of  April."— Editor.] 


W% 


EN  of  the  North  and  West, 
ake  in  your  niii^ht. 


Prepare,  as  the  rebels  have  done, 

For  the  fight  ! 
You  cannot  shrink  from  the  test  ; 
Rise  !     Men  of  the  North  and  West 


They  have  torn  down  your  banner  of  stars  ; 

They  have  trampled  the  laws  ; 
They  have  stifled  the  freedom  they  hate, 

For  no  cause  ! 
Do  you  love  it  or  slavery  best  ? 
Speak  !     Men  of  the  North  and  Wt-st  ! 

174 


lisen  ot  tbc  IRortb  anO  Wicst  175 

They  strike  at  the  life  of  the  vState  : 

Shall  the  murder  be  done  ? 
They  cry  :  "  We  are  two  !  "     And  you  ? 

"  We  are  one  !  " 
You  must  meet  them,  then,  breast  to  breast ; 
On  !     Men  of  the  North  and  West  ! 


Not  with  words  ;  they  laugh  them  to  scorn, 

And  tears  they  despise  ; 
But  with  swords  in  your  hands,  and  death 

In  your  eyes  ! 
Strike  home  !  leave  to  God  all  the  rest  ; 
Strike  !     INIen  of  the  North  and  West  ! 


RHODE  ISLAND  TO  THE  SOUTH. 
By  Genkral  F.  W.  I.ANDKR. 

ONCE,  on  New  England's  bloody  heights. 
And  o'er  a  southern  plain, 
Our  fathers  fought  for  sovereign  rights, 
That  working  men  might  reign. 

And  by  that  only  Lord  we  serve, 

The  great  Jehovah's  name  ; 
By  those  sweet  lips  that  ever  nerve 

High  hearts  to  deeds  of  fame  ; 

By  all  that  makes  the  man  a  king, 
The  household  hearth  a  throne, — 

Take  back  the  idle  scoff  ye  fling, 
Where  freedom  claims  its  own. 

For  though  our  battle  hope  was  vague 

Upon  Manassas'  plain, 
Where  Slocuni  stood  with  gallant  Sprague 

And  gave  his  life  in  vain, — 
176 


IRbo^e  "ffslanO  to  tbe  Soutb  177 


Before  we  yield  the  holy  trust 

Our  old  forefathers  gave, 
Or  wrong  New  England's  hallowed  dust, 

Or  grant  the  wrongs  ye  crave, — 

We  '11  print  in  kindred  gore  so  deep 

The  shore  we  love  to  tread, 
That  woman's  eyes  shall  fail  to  weep 

O'er  man's  unnumbered  dead. 


OUR  COUNTRY'S  CALL. 

15Y     WILIJAM     CULLKN     I5KYANT. 

LAV  down  the  axe,  fling  by  the  spade  ; 
Leave  in  its  track  the  toiling  plough  ; 
The  rifle  and  the  bayonet-blade 

For  amis  like  yours  were  fitter  now  ; 
And  let  the  hands  that  ply  the  pen 

Ouit  the  light  task,  and  learn  to  wield 
The  horseman's  crooked  brand,  and  rein 
The  charger  on  the  battle-field. 

Our  country  calls  ;  away  !  away  ! 

To  where  the  blood-stream  blots  the  green  ; 
Strike  to  defend  the  gentlest  sway 

That  Time  in  all  his  course  has  seen. 
See,  from  a  thousand  coverts — see 

Spring  the  armed  foes  that  haunt  her  track 
They  rush  to  smite  her  down,  and  we 

Must  beat  the  banded  traitors  back. 


Ho  !  sturdy  as  the  oaks  ye  cleave, 

And  moved  as  soon  to  fear  and  flight, 
178 


Our  Counti'^'j5  Call  179 


Men  of  the  glade  and  forest !  leave 
Your  woodcraft  for  the  field  of  fight. 

The  arms  that  wield  the  axe  must  pour 
An  iron  tempest  on  the  foe  ; 

His  serried  ranks  shall  reel  l^efore 
The  arm  that  lays  the  panther  low. 

And  ye  who  breast  the  mountain  storm 

By  grassy  steep  or  highland  lake, 
Come,  for  the  land  ye  love,  to  form 

A  bulwark  that  no  foe  can  break. 
vStand,  like  your  own  gray  cliffs  that  mock 

The  whirlwind  ;  stand  in  her  defence  : 
The  blast  as  soon  shall  move  the  rock. 

As  rushing  squadrons  bear  ye  thence. 

Aud  ye  whose  homes  are  by  her  grand 

Swift  rivers,  rising  far  away, 
Come  from  the  depth  of  her  green  land 

As  mighty  in  your  march  as  they  ; 
As  terrible  as  when  the  rains 

Have  swelled  them  over  bank  and  bourne. 
With  sudden  floods  to  drown  the  plains 

And  sweep  along  the  woods  uptorn. 

And  ye  who  throng  beside  the  deep, 
Her  ports  and  hamlets  of  the  strand. 

In  number  like  the  waves  that  leap 
On  his  long-murmuring  marge  of  sand, 


Our  Countrv'^  Call 


Come,  like  that  deep,  when,  o'er  his  brim, 
He  rises,  all  his  floods  to  pour, 

And  fliiij(s  the  proudest  barks  that  swim, 
A  helpless  wreck  aj^ainst  his  shore. 

Few,  few  were  they  whose  swords  of  old 

Won  the  fair  land  in  which  we  dwell ; 
But  we  are  many,  we  who  hold 

The  grim  resolve  to  guard  it  well. 
vStrike  for  that  broad  and  goodly  land, 

Blow  after  blow,  till  men  shall  see 
That  Might  and  Right  move  hand  in  hand 

And  Glorious  must  their  triumph  be. 


A  CRY  TO  ARMvS. 


By  henry  TIMROD. 


Ho,  woodsmen  of  the  tnountain-side  ! 
Ho,  dwellers  in  the  vales! 
I  lo,  ye  who  by  the  chafing  tide 
Have  roughened  in  the  gales  ! 
Leave  barn  and  byre,  leave  kin  and  cot, 

Lay  by  the  bloodless  spade  ; 
Let  desk  and  case  and  counter  rot, 
And  burn  vour  books  of  trade  ! 


The  despot  roves  your  fairest  lands  ; 

And  till  he  flies  or  fears, 
Your  fields  must  grow  but  armed  bands, 

Your  sheaves  be  sheaves  of  spears  ! 
Give  up  to  mildew  and  to  rust 

The  useless  tools  of  gain, 
And  feed  your  country's  sacred  dust 

With  floods  of  crimson  rain  ! 
i8i 


i82  a  Crg  to  Brms 

Come  with  the  weapons  at  your  call — 

With  musket,  pike,  or  knife  ; 
He  wields  the  deadliest  blade  of  all 

Who  lij^htest  holds  his  life. 
The  anil  that  drives  its  uuboui^ht  blows 

With  all  a  patriot's  scorn, 
Might  brain  a  tyrant  with  a  rose 

Or  stab  him  with  a  thorn. 


Does  any  falter  ?     Let  him  turn 

To  some  brave  maiden's  eyes, 
And  catch  the  holy  fires  that  bum 

In  those  sublunar  skies. 
Oh,  could  30U  like  your  women  feel, 

And  in  their  spirit  march, 
A  day  might  see  your  lines  of  steel 

Beneath  the  victor's  arch  ! 


What  hope,  O  God  !  would  not  grow  warm 

When  thoughts  like  these  give  cheer  ? 
The  lily  calmly  braves  the  storm, 

And  shall  the  palm-tree  fear  ? 
No  !  rather  let  its  branches  court 

The  rack  that  sweeps  the  plain  ; 
And  from  the  lily's  regal  port 

Learn  how  to  breast  the  strain. 


B  Crs  to  Brm6 


183 


Ho,  woodsmen  of  the  iiiountain-sifle  ! 

Ho,  dwellers  in  the  vales  ! 
Ho,  ye  who  by  the  roaring  tide 

Have  ronghened  in  the  gales  ! 
Come,  flocking  gayly  to  the  fight, 

From  forest,  hill,  and  lake  ; 
We  battle  for  our  country's  right, 

And  for  the  lily's  sake  1 

[Southern.] 


THK  BANNER  OF  THE  vSTARS. 


Bv  R.  W.   RAYMOND. 


HURRAH  !    hoys,    hurrah  !    flinj^    our    hanner  to  th.e 
breeze  ! 
het  the  enemies  of  freedom  see  its  foUls  a^^aiu  unfurled. 
.•\nd  down  with  the  ])irates  that  scorn  upon  the  seas 
Our  victorious  Yankee  l)anner,  sign  of  Freedom  to  the 
Worhl  ! 

184 


Zbc  :JSanner  of  tbe  Stars  185 


Chorus. — We  '11  never  have  a  new  flatj,   for  ours  is  the 

true  flag, 
The  true  flag,  the   true   flag,  the  Red,   White,  and  lilue 

flag. 
Hurrah  !  boys,  hurrah  !  we  wull  carry  to  the  wars, 
The  old  flag,  the  free  flag,  the  Banner  of  the  Stars. 

And  what  tho'   its  white    shall  be  crimsoned  with   our 
blood? 
And  what  tho'   its  stripes  shall    be  shredded    in   the 
storms  ? 
To  the  torn  flag,  the  worn  flag,  we  '11  keep  our  promise 
good, 
And  we  '11  bear  the  starry  blue  field,  with  gallant  hearts 
and  arms. 

— Chorus. 


Then,  cursed  be  he  who  would  strike  our  Starry  Flag  ! 
May  the  God  of  Hosts  be  with  us,  as  we  smite  the 
traitor  down  ! 
And  cursed  be  he  who  would  hesitate  or  lag. 

Till  the  dear  flag,  the  fair  flag,  with  Victory  we  crown. 

Chorus. 


THE    FLAG    OF    THK    CONSTELLATION. 

By  T.    BUCHANAN    REID. 

THE  stars  of  our  mom  on  our  banner  borne, 
With  the  iris  of  heav'n  are  blended, 
The  hands  of  our  sires  first  mingled  those  fires, 

By  us  they  shall  be  defended  ! 
Then  hail  the  true — the  Red,  White,  and  Blue, 

The  flag  of  the  Constellation  ; 
It  sails  as  it  sailed,  by  our  fore-fathers  hailed. 
O'er  battles  that  made  us  a  nation. 


What  hand  so  bold  to  strike  from  its  fold, 

One  star  or  stripe  of  its  bright'ning  ; 
To  him  ])e  each  star  a  fier}'  Mars, 

Each  stripe  a  terrible  lightning. 
Then  hail  the  true — the  Red,  White,  and  Blue, 

The  flag  of  the  Constellation. 
It  sails  as  it  sailed,  by  our  fore-fathers  hailed, 

O'er  battles  that  made  us  a  nation. 
1 86 


^be  jflag  of  tbc  Conetellation  187 

Its  meteor  form  shall  ride  the  storm 

Till  the  fiercest  of  foes  surrender ; 
The  storm  gone  by,  it  shall  gild  the  sky, 

As  a  rainbow  of  peace  and  splendor. 
Then  hail  the  true— the  Red,  White,  and  Blue, 

The  flag  of  the  Constellation, 
It  sails  as  it  sailed,  by  our  fore-fathers  hailed. 

O'er  battles  that  made  us  a  nation. 


Peace,  peace  to  the  world — is  our  motto  unfurled, 

Tho'  we  shun  not  a  field  that  is  gory  ; 
At  home  or  abroad,  fearing  none  but  our  God, 

We  will  carve  our  own  pathway  to  glory  ! 
Then  hail  the  true— the  Red,  White,  and  Blue, 

The  flag  of  the  Constellation, 
It  sails  as  it  sailed,  by  our  fore-fathers  hailed. 

O'er  battles  that  made  us  a  nation. 

Florence,  Italy,  May,  1861. 


THK    vSTARvS    AND    STRIPKS. 
By  jamks  t.  kiklds. 

RALLY  round  the  flag,  boys- 
Give  it  to  the  breeze  ! 
That  's  the  banner  we  bore 
On  the  land  and  seas. 

Brave  hearts  are  under  it, 

Let  the  traitors  brag, 
Gallant  lads,  fire  away  ! 

And  fight  for  the  flag. 

Their  flag  is  but  a  rag — 

Ours  is  the  true  one  ; 
l^p  with  the  Stars  and  Stripes  ! 

Down  with  the  new  one  ! 


Let  our  colors  fly,  boys — 
Guard  them  day  and  night ; 

For  victory  is  liberty. 

And  God  will  l)lcss  the  right. 
i8S 


THE    BONN  IK    BT.UK    FLAG. 
By  annik  chambkrs   kktchum. 

COME,  brothers  !  rally  for  the  right 
The  bravest  of  the  brave 
vSends  forth  her  ringing  battle-cry 

Beside  the  Atlantic  wave  ! 
She  leads  the  way  in  honor's  path  ; 

Come  brothers,  near  and  far, 
Come  rally  round  the  Bonnie  Blue  Flag 
That  bears  a  single  star  ! 


We  've  borne  the  Yankee  trickery, 

The  Yankee  gibe  and  sneer, 
Till  Yankee  insolence  and  pride 

Know  neither  shame  nor  fear  ; 
But  ready  now  with  shot  and  steel 

Their  brazen  front  to  mar. 
We  hoist  aloft  the  Bonnie  Blue  Flag 

That  bears  a  single  star. 
189 


iQo  XLbc  JGonnic  .li3luc  jFlaii 


Now  Georgia  marches  to  the  front, 

And  close  beside  her  come 
Her  sisters  by  the  Mexique  Sea, 

With  pealing  trump  and  drum  ; 
Till  answering  back  from  hill  and  glen 

The  rallying  cry  afar, 
A  Nation  hoists  the  Bonnie  Blue  V\ag 

That  bears  a  single  star  ! 

By  every  stone  in  Charleston  Bay, 

By  each  beleaguered  town, 
We  swear  to  rest  not,  night  nor  day. 

But  hunt  the  tyrants  down  ! 
Till  bathed  in  valor's  holy  blood 

The  gazing  world  afar 
Shall  greet  with  shouts  the  Bonnie  Blue  Flag 

That  bears  the  cross  and  star  ! 

[vSouthem.] 


THK   STRIPES   AND  THK  STARS. 


By  EDNA   DEAN   PROCTOR. 


OvSTAR-SPANGLKD    BANNER!    the   fl;,. 
pride  ! 
Though  trampled  by  traitors  and  hasely  defied, 
Fling  out  to  the  glad  winds  your  red,  white,  and  blue 
For  the  heart  of  the  Northland  is  beating  for  you  ! 
And  her  strong  ann  is  nerving  to  strike  with  a  will. 
Till  the  foe  and  his  boastings  are  humbled  and  still ! 
Here  's  welcome  to  wounding  and  combat  and  scars 
And  the  glory  of  death — for  the  Stripes  and  the  Stars 


f   our 


From  prairie,  O  ploughman  !  speed  boldly  away — 
There  's  seed  to  be  sown  in  God's  furrows  to-day  ! 
Row  landward,  lone  fisher  !  stout  woodman  come  home  ! 
Let  smith  leave  his  anvil  and  weaver  his  loom, 
And  hamlet  and  city  ring  loud  with  the  cry : 
"  For  God  and  our  country  we  '11  fight  till  we  die  ! 
Here  's  welcome  to  wounding  and  combat  and  scars 
And  the  glory  of  death — for  the  Stripes  and  the  Stars ! " 
191 


192  Cbc  Stripes  an^  Star^ 

Invincible  banner!  the  flag  of  the  free, 
Oh,  where  treads  the  foot  that  would  falter  for  thee? 
Or  the  hands  to  be  folded,  till  triumph  is  won 
And  the  eaj^le  looks  proud,  as  of  old,  to  the  sun  ? 
Give  tears  for  the  parting — a  niunnur  of  prayer — 
Then  forward  !  the  fame  of  our  standard  to  share  ! 
With  welcome  to  wounding  and  combat  and  scars 
And  the  glory  of  death — for  the  Stripes  and  the  Stars  ! 

O  God  of  our  fathers  !  this  banner  must  shine 
Where  battle  is  hottest,  in  warfare  divine  ! 
The  cannon  has  thundered,  the  bugle  has  blown — 
We  fear  not  the  summons — we  fight  not  alone  ! 
O  lead  us,  till  wide  from  the  gulf  to  the  sea 
The  land  shall  be  sacred  to  freedom  and  Thee  ! 
With  love  for  oppression  ;  with  blessing,  for  scars — 
One  country — one  banner — the  Stripes  and  the  Stars  ' 


DIXIE. 


By   ALHKRT    riKK. 


SOUTHRONS,  hear  your  country  call  you  ! 
Up,  lest  worse  than  death  befall  you  ! 
To  arras  !  To  arms  !  To  arms,  in  Dixie  ! 
Lo  !  all  the  beacon-fires  are  lighted — 
Let  all  hearts  be  now  united  ! 
To  arms  !  To  arms  !  To  arms,  in  Dixie  ! 

Advance  the  flag  of  Dixie  ! 

Hurrah  !  hurrah  ! 

For  Dixie's  land  we  take  our  stand, 

And  live  or  die  for  Dixie  ! 

To  arms  !  To  arms  ! 

And  conquer  peace  for  Dixie  ! 

To  arms  !  To  arms  ! 

And  conquer  peace  for  Dixie  ! 


Hear  the  Northern  thunders  mutter  ! 
Northern  flaers  in  South  winds  flutter ! 


To 


193 


194  BlllC 

Send  them  back  your  fierce  defiance  ! 
Stamp  upon  the  accursed  alHance  ! 
To  arms  ! 
Advance  the  flag  of  Dixie  ! 

Fear  no  danger  !  shun  no  hi  bur  ! 
Lift  up  rifle,  pike,  and  sabre  ! 

To  arms  ! 
ShouUler  pressing  close  to  shoulder, 
Let  the  odds  make  each  heart  bolder  ! 

To  arms  ! 
Advance  the  flag  of  Dixie  ! 

How  the  South's  great  heart  rejoices 
At  your  cannon's  ringing  voices  ! 

To  arms ! 
For  faith  betrayed,  and  pledges  broken, 
Wrongs  inflicted,  insults  spoken, 

To  arms  ! 
Advance  the  flag  of  Dixie  ! 

Strong  as  lions,  swift  as  eagles, 

Back  to  their  kennels  hunt  these  beagles  ! 

To  arms  ! 
Cut  the  unequal  bond  asunder  ! 
Let  them  hence  each  other  plunder  ! 

To  arms  ! 
Advance  the  flag  of  Dixie  ! 


j5)ijie  195 


Swear  upon  your  country's  altar 
Never  to  submit  or  falter  ! 

To  arms  ! 
Till  the  spoilers  are  defeated, 
Till  the  Lord's  work  is  completed, 

To  arms ! 
Advance  the  flag  of  Dixie  ! 


Halt  not  till  our  Federation 

Secures  among  earth's  powers  its  station  ! 

To  arms  ! 
Then  at  peace,  and  crowned  with  glory, 
Hear  your  children  tell  the  story  ! 

To  arms  ! 
Advance  the  flag  of  Dixie  ! 


If  the  loved  ones  weep  in  sadness, 
Victory  soon  shall  bring  them  gladness. 

To  arms  ! 
Exultant  pride  soon  vanish  sorrow  ; 
Smiles  chase  tears  away  to-morrow. 
To  arms  !  To  arms  !  To  arms,  in  Dixie  ! 

Advance  the  flag  of  Dixie  ! 

Hurrah  !  hurrah  ! 

For  Dixie's  land  we  take  our  stand, 

And  live  or  die  for  Dixie  ! 


196 


Wixic 


To  arms  !  To  anus 

And  conquer  peace  for  Dixie  ; 

To  arms  !  To  arms  ! 

And  conquer  peace  for  Dixie  ! 

[Soulbcrn.] 


THE  OATH  OF  FREEDOM. 

By  JAMES  BARRON  HOPF). 

BORN  free,  thus  we  resolve  to  live 
By  Heaven,  we  will  be  free  ! 
By  all  the  stars  which  burn  on  high — 
By  the  green  earth — the  mighty  sea — 
By  God's  unshaken  majesty, 

We  will  be  free  or  die  ! 

Then  let  the  drums  all  roll  ! 

Let  all  the  trumpets  blow  ! 

Mind,  heart,  and  soul, 

We  spurn  control 

Attempted  by  a  foe  ! 


Born  free,  thus  we  resolve  to  live  : 
By  Heaven,  we  will  be  free  ! 
And,  vainly  now  the  Northmen  try 
To  beat  us  down — in  arms  we  stand 
To  strike  for  this  our  native  land  ! 

We  will  be  free  or  die  ! 

Then  let  the  drums  all  roll  ! 

197 


igS  <Ibc  Oatb  ot  jfrccDom 

Born  free,  we  thus  resolve  to  live  : 
By  Heaven,  we  will  be  free  ! 
Our  wives  and  children  look  on  hijj^h. 
Pray  God  to  smile  upon  the  right  ! 
And  bid  us  in  the  deadly  fight 

As  freemen  live  or  die  ! 

Then  let  the  drums  all  roll  ! 


Born  free,  thus  we  resolve  to  live  : 
By  Heaven,  we  will  be  free  ! 
And  ere  we  cease  this  battle-cry, 
Be  all  our  blood,  our  kindred's  spilt. 
On  bayonet  or  sabre  hilt  ! 

We  will»be  free  or  die  ! 

Then  let  the  drums  all  roll  ! 


Born  free,  thus  we  resolve  to  live  : 
By  Heaven,  we  will  be  free  ! 
Defiant  let  the  banners  fly. 
Shake  out  their  glories  to  the  air, 
And  kneeling,  brothers,  let  us  swear 

We  will  be  free  or  die  ! 

Then  let  the  drums  all  roll  ! 


Born  free,  thus  we  resolve  to  live  : 
By  Heaven,  we  will  be  free  ! 


Zbc  ®atb  of  ifrce^om 


199 


And  to  this  oatli  the  dead  reply — 
Our  valiant  fathers'  sacred  ghosts — 
These  with  us,  and  the  God  of  hosts, 

We  will  be  free  or  die  ! 

Then  let  the  drums  all  roll  ! 

[Southern.] 


WAIT 


By   charters    DAWSON    SHANIA'. 

[Ill  many  collections  this  poem  is  entitled  "The  Fancy 
Shot."  It  was  first  published  in  London,  in  the  paper 
called  0>ice-a-lVeek,  and  was  there  entitled  "Civile  Bel- 
luni."  It  is  believed  to  be  the  work  of  Charles  Dawson 
Shanly,  who  died  in  1876. — Editor.] 


RIFLEMAN,  shoot  me  a  fancy  shot 
Straight  at  the  heart  of  yon  prowling  vidette  ; 
Ring  me  a  ball  in  the  glittering  spot 

That  shines  on  his  breast  like  an  amulet  '  " 


200 


Civil  Mar 


"  Ah,  captain  !  here  goes  for  a  fme-drawn  bead, 
There  's  music  around  when  my  barrel  's  in  tune  !  " 

Crack  !  went  the  rifle,  the  messenger  sped. 

And  dead  from  his  horse  fell  the  ringing  dragoon. 

"  Now,  rifleman,  steal  through  the  bushes,  and  snatch 
From  your  victim  some  trinket  to  handsel  first  blood  ; 

A  button,  a  loop,  or  that  luminous  patch 

That  gleams  in  the  moon  like  a  diamond  stud !  " 

"  O  captain  !  I  staggered  and  sunk  on  my  track. 
When  I  gazed  on  the  face  of  that  fallen  vidette, 

For  he  looked  so  like  you,  as  he  lay  on  his  back, 
That  my  heart  rose  upon  me,  and  masters  me  yet. 

"  But  I  snatched  off  the  trinket, — this  locket  of  gold  ; 

An  inch  from  the  centre  my  lead  broke  its  way. 
Scarce  grazing  the  picture,  so  fair  to  behold, 

Of  a  beautiful  lady  in  bridal  array." 

"  Ha  !  rifleman,  fling  me  the  locket  ! — 't  is  she. 
My  brother's  young  bride, — and  the  fallen  dragoon 

Was  her  husband — Hush  !  soldier,  't  was  Heaven's  decree, 
We  must  bury  him  there,  by  the  light  of  the  moon  ! 

"  But  hark  !  the  far  bugles  their  warnings  unite  ; 

War  is  a  virtue,  weakness  a  sin  ; 
There  's  a  lurking  and  loping  around  us  to-night  ; — 

Load  again,  rifleman,  keep  your  hand  in  !  " 


THE    MASSACHU- 
vSETTS  LINE. 

By  KOHKkT  I.oWKLI. 


STILL  first,  as  long  and  long  ago, 
Let  INIassachusetts  muster ; 
Give  her  the  post  right  next  the  foe  ; 

Be  sure  that  you  may  trust  her. 
She  was  the  first  to  give  her  blood 

For  freedom  and  for  honor  ; 
She  trod  her  soil  to  crimson  mud  ; 
God's  blessing  be  upon  her  ! 


She  never  faltered  for  the  right, 

Nor  ever  will  hereafter  ; 
Fling  up  her  name  with  all  your  might, 

Shake  roof-tree  and  shake  rafter  ! 
But  of  old  deeds  she  need  not  brag. 

How  she  broke  sword  and  fetter  ; 
Fling  out  again  the  old  striped  flag  ! 

She  '11  do  yet  more  and  better. 
202 


XLbc  /Hbaesacbusettd  Xine  203 

In  peace  lier  sails  fleck  all  the  seas, 

Her  mills  shake  every  river  ; 
And  where  are  scenes  so  fair  as  these 

God  and  her  true  hands  give  her  ? 
Her  claim  in  war  who  seek  to  rob  ? 

All  others  come  in  later  ; — 
Hers  first  it  is  to  front  the  mob, 

The  tyrant,  and  the  traitor. 

God  bless,  God  bless  this  glorious  State  ! 

Let  her  have  her  way  in  battle  ! 
vShe  '11  go  where  batteries  crash  with  fate 

Or  where  thick  rifles  rattle. 
Give  her  the  Light  and  let  her  try. 

And  then  who  can  may  press  her  ; 
She  '11  go  straight  on  or  she  will  die  ; 

God  bless  her,  and  God  bless  her  i 


May  7,  1S61. 


m020^ 


BKTHEL. 


Bv  A.  J.    11.   I)V(iANNK. 


[Theodore  Wintlirop.  a  brilliant  youiii^  man  of  letters, 
was  killed  at  Big  Bethel,  on  June  lo,  1861. — Kditor.] 


WK  mustered  at  midnight,  in  darkness  v,e  formed. 
And  the  whisper  went  round  of  a  fort  to  be  stomiet 
But  no  drum-beat  had  called  us,  no  trumpet  we  heard. 
And  no  voice  of  command,  but  our  colonel's  low  word- 
"  Colinnn  !  Forward  !  " 


JBetbel  205 


And  out,  through  the  mist,  and  the  murk  of  the  morn. 
From  the  beaches  of  Hampton  our  l)arges  were  borne ; 
And  we  heard  not  a  sound,  save  the  sweep  of  the  oar, 
Till  the  word  of  our  colonel  came  up  from  the  shore — 
"  Column  !  I'orward  !  ' 


With  hearts  bounding  bravely,  and  eyes  all  alight, 

As  ye  dance  to  soft  music,  so  trod  we  that  night  ; 

Through  the  aisles  of  the  greenwood,  with  vines  over- 
arched, 

Tossing   dew-drops,    like    gems,    from   our   feet,   as  we 
marched — 

"  Column  !  Forward  !  " 


As  ye  dance  with  the  damsels,  to  viol  and  flute. 
So  we  skipped  from  the  shadows,  and  mocked  their  pur- 
suit ; 
But  the  soft  zephyrs  chased  us,  with  scents  of  the  morn, 
As  we  passed  by  the  hay-fields  and  green  waving  corn — 
"  Column  !  Forward  !  " 

For  the  leaves  were  all  laden  with  fragrance  of  June, 
And  the  flowers  and  the  foliage   with    sweets  were  in 

tune ; 
And  the  air  was  so  calm,  and  the  forest  so  dumb. 
That  we  heard  our  own  heart-beats,  like  taps  of  a  drum — 
"Column!  Forward  !  " 


2c^  JSctbcl 


Till  the  lull  of  the  lowlands  was  stirred  by  the  breeze, 

And  the  buskins  of  morn  brushed  the  tops  of  the  trees, 
And  the  j^lintinj^s  of  glory  that  slid  from  her  track 
By  the  sheen  of  our  rifles  were  gayly  flunj;  back — 
"  Column  !   I'orward  I  " 


And  the  woodlands  grew  puqjle  with  sunshiny  mist. 
And  the  blue-crested  hill-tops  with  rose-light  were  kissed, 
And  the  earth  gave  her  prayers  to  the  sun  in  perfumes, 
Till  we  marched  as  through  gardens,  and  trampled  on 
blooms — 

"  Column  !  Forward  !  " 


Ay,  trampled  on  blossoms,  and  seared  the  sweet  breath 
Of  the  greenwood  with  low-brooding  vapors  of  death  ; 
O'er  the  flowers  and  the  corn  we  were  bonie  like  a  blast, 
And  away  to  the  forefront  of  battle  we  passed — 
"  Column  !  For\vard  I  " 


I'or  the  cannon's  hoarse  thunder  roared  out  from   the 

glades. 
And  the  sun  was  like  lightning  on  banners  ami  blades. 
When  the  long  line  of  chanting  Zouaves,  like  a  flood, 
I'rom   the  green    of  the  woodlands   rolled,   crimson   as 

blood — 

"  Column  I  Forward  !  " 


JGctbcl  207 


While  the  sound  of  their  song,  like  the  surge  of  the  seas, 
With  the  "  Star-Spangied  Banner  "  swelled  over  the  leas  ; 
And  the  sword  of  Duryea,  like  a  torch,  led  the  way, 
Bearing  down  on  the  batteries  of  Bethel  that  day — 
*'  Column  !  Forward  !  " 

Through  green-tasselled   cornfields    our    columns    were 

thrown, 
And  like  corn  by  the  red  scythe  of  fire  we  were  mown  ; 
While  the  cannon's  fierce  ploughings  new- furrowed  the 

plain. 
That  our  blood  might  be  planted  for  Liberty's  grain — 
''  Column  !  Forward  !  " 


Oh  !  the  fields  of  fair  June  have  uo  lack  of  sweet  flowers, 
But  their  rarest  and  best  breathe  no  fragrance  like  ours  ; 
And  the  sunshine  of  June,  sprinkling  gold  on  the  corn. 
Hath  no  harvest  that  ripeneth  like  Bethel's  red  morn — 
"  Column  !  Forward  !  " 


When  our  heroes,  like  bridegrooms,  with  lips  and  with 

breath. 
Drank  the  first  kiss  of  Danger  and  clasped  her  in  death  ; 
And  the  heart  of  brave  Winthrop  grew  mute  with  his 

lyre. 
When  the  plumes  of  his  genius  lay  moulting  in  fire — 
"  Column  !  Forward  !  " 


2o8  JSctbel 


Where  he  fell  shall  be  sunshine  as  bright  as  his  name, 
And  the  grass  where  he  slept  shall  be  green  as  his  fame ; 
I-'or  the  gold  of  the  pen  and  the  steel  of  the  sword 
Write  his  deeds — in  his  blood — on  the  land  he  adored- 
"  Column  !  Forward  !  " 

And  the  soul  of  our  comrade  shall  sweeten  the  air, 
And  the  flowers  and  the  grass-blades  his  memory  upbear  ; 
While  the  breath  of  his  genius,  like  music  in  leaves, 
With  the  corn-tassels  whispers,  and  sings  in  the  sheaves — 
"  Column  !  Forward  !  " 


ijuumjuiwiii"  Himilllllllillllllllll'iuiliin 

MiiHHfTMBifc^^WBiil\^&Kr^jw8M 

THE    CHARGE    BY    THE    FORD. 

By    Dk.    THOMAS    DUNN    KNCLISH. 

EIGHTY  and  nine  with  their  captain 
Rode  on  the  enemy's  track, 
Rode  in  the  gray  of  the  morning  : 
Nine  of  the  ninety  came  back. 

Slow  rose  the  mist  from  the  river, 
Lighter  each  moment  the  way  : 

Careless  and  tearless  and  fearless 
Galloped  they  on  to  the  fray. 

Singing  in  tune,  how  the  scabbards 
Loud  on  the  stirrup-irons  rang. 

Clinked  as  the  men  rose  in  saddle, 
Fell  as  they  sank  with  a  clang, 

What  is  it  moves  by  the  river, 

Jaded  and  weary  and  weak. 
Gray-backs — a  cross  on  their  banner — 

Yonder  the  foe  whom  they  seek, 
209 


2IO  Xlbc  Cbar^c  bv  tbc  jforD 

Silence  !    They  see  not,  they  hear  not, 
Tarrying  there  by  the  marge  : 

Forward  /  Draw  sabre  !  Trot !  Gallop  ! 
Charge  !  like  a  hurricane,  charge  ! 

Ah  !  't  was  a  man-trap  infernal — 
Fire  like  the  deep  pit  of  hell  ! 

Volley  on  volley  to  meet  them, 
Mixed  with  the  gray  rebels'  yell. 

Ninety  had  ridden  to  battle, 
Tracing  the  enemy's  track, — 

Ninety  had  ridden  to  battle, 
Nine  of  the  ninety  came  back. 

Honor  the  name  of  the  ninety  ; 

Honor  the  heroes  who  came 
Scathless  from  five  hundred  muskets, 

Safe  from  the  lead-bearing  flame. 

Eighty  and  one  of  the  troopers 
Lie  on  the  field  of  the  slain — 

Lie  on  the  red  field  of  honor  : 
Honor  the  nine  who  remain  ! 

Cold  are  the  dead  there,  and  gory, 

There  where  their  life-blood  was  spilt ; 

Back  come  the  living,  each  sabre 
Red  from  the  point  to  the  hilt. 


Zbc  Cbarge  bv?  tbc  jforO 


Give  them  three  cheers  and  a  tiger  ! 

Let  the  flags  wave  as  they  come  ! 
Give  them  the  blare  of  the  trumpet ! 

Give  them  the  roll  of  the  drum  ! 


MANASSAS. 

July  21,  1861. 

By    CATHERINIi    M.    WAKMKM). 

THKV  have  met  at  last — as  storm-cluiuls 
Meet  ill  heaven, 
And  the  Northmen  back  and  l^leedini^ 

Have  been  driven  : 

And  their  thunders  have  been  stilled, 

And  their  leaders  crushed  or  killed, 

And  their  ranks  wdth  terror  thrilled. 

Rent  and  riven  ! 

Like  the  leaves  of  Vallambrosa 

They  are  lying  ; 
In  the  moonlight,  in  the  midiiiglit, 

Dead  and  dying : 
Like  those  leaves  before  the  gale, 
vSwept  their  legions,  wild  and  pale  ; 
"While  the  host  that  made  them  quail 

Stood,  defying. 
212 


/Ranaseas  213 


When  aloft  in  morning  sunlight 

Flags  \vcre  flaunted, 
And  "  swift  vengeance  on  the  rebel" 

Proudly  vaunted  : 
Little  did  they  think  that  night 
Should  close  upon  their  shameful  flight 
And  rebels,  victors  in  the  flght, 
Stand  undaunted. 

But  peace  to  those  who  perished 

In  our  passes  ! 
Light  be  the  earth  above  them  ; 

Green  the  grasses  ! 
Long  shall  Northmen  rue  the  day 
When  they  met  our  stern  array, 
And  shrunk  from  battle's  wild  affray 

At  Manassas. 


(Southern. ) 


uroN  Tin-:  hill  hl:i-orl:  ckxtrl:villk. 

July  21.  iS6i. 
By   GF.OROK    H.    BOKKR. 


I'LL  tell  you  what  I  heard  that  day  : 
I  heard  the  great  guns,  far  away, 
Boom  after  boom.     Their  sullen  sound 
Shook  all  the  shuddering  air  around  ; 
And  shook,  ah  me  !  my  shrinking  ear, 
And  downward  shook  the  hanging  tear 
That,  in  despite  of  manhood's  pride, 
Rolled  o'er  my  face  a  scalding  tide. 
And  then  I  prayed.     O  God  !  I  pra^'ed, 
As  never  stricken  saint,  who  laid 
His  hot  cheek  to  the  holy  tomb 
Of  Jesus,  in  the  midnight  gloom. 

'*  What  saw  I  ?  "  Little.     Clouds  of  dust  ; 
Great  squares  of  men,  with  standards  thrust 
Against  their  course  ;  dense  columns  crowned 
With  billowing  steel.     Then  bound  on  bound, 
214 


•dpon  tbc  1bill  before  Centreville  215 

The  long  black  lines  of  cannon  poured 
Behind  the  horses,  streaked  and  gored 
With  sweaty  speed.     Anon  shot  by, 
I^ike  a  lone  meteor  of  the  sky, 
A  single  horseman  ;  and  he  shone 
His  bright  face  on  me,  and  was  gone. 
All  these  with  rolling  drums,  with  cheers, 
With  songs  familiar  to  my  ears, 
Passed  under  the  far-hanging  cloud, 
And  vanished,  and  my  heart  was  proud  ! 


For  mile  on  mile  the  line  of  war 
Extended  ;  and  a  steady  roar, 
As  of  some  distant  stormy  sea, 
On  the  south-wind  came  up  to  me. 
And  high  in  air,  and  over  all. 
Grew,  like  a  fog,  that  murky  pall, 
Beneath  whose  gloom  of  dusty  smoke 
The  cannon  flamed,  the  bombshell  broke. 
And  the  sharp  rattling  volley  rang. 
And  shrapnel  roared,  and  bullets  sang, 
And  fierce-eyed  men,  with  panting  breath, 
Toiled  onward  at  the  work  of  death. 
I  could  not  see,  but  knew  too  well, 
That  underneath  that  cloud  of  hell, 
Which  still  grew  more  by  great  degrees, 
jNIan  strove  with  man  in  deeds  like  these. 


2i6         'dpon  tbc  "toiU  before  CentreviUe 


Rut  when  the  sun  had  passed  his  stand 
At  noon,  behold  !  on  every  hand 
The  dark  brown  vapor  backward  bore, 
And  fainter  came  the  dreadful  roar 
From  the  huge  sea  of  striving  men. 
Thus  spoke  my  rising  spirit  then  : 
"  Take  comfort  from  that  dying  sound, 
Faint  heart,  the  foe  is  giving  ground  !  " 
And  one,  who  taxed  his  horse's  powers, 
Flung  at  me,  "  Ho  !  the  day  is  ours  !  " 
And  scoured  along.     So  swift  his  pace, 
I  took  no  memory  of  his  face. 
Then  turned  I  once  again  to  Heaven  ; 
All  things  appeared  so  just  and  even  ; 
So  clearly  from  the  highest  Cause 
Traced  I  the  downward-working  laws — 
Those  moral  springs,  made  evident, 
In  the  grand,  triumph-crowned  event. 
So  half  I  shouted,  and  half  sang, 
Like  Jephtha's  daughter,  to  the  clang 
Of  my  spread,  cymbal-striking  palms. 
Some  fragments  of  thanksgiving  psalms. 

Meanwhile  a  solemn  stillness  fell 
Upon  the  land.     O'er  hill  and  dell 
Failed  eveiy  sound.     My  heart  stood  still. 
Waiting  before  some  coming  ill. 
The  silence  was  more  sad  and  dread. 
Under  that  canopy  of  lead. 


lapon  tbc  fbiii  before  GentreviUe 


Than  the  wild  tumult  of  the  war 

That  raged  a  little  while  before. 

All  nature,  in  her  work  of  death, 

Paused  for  one  last,  despairing  breath  ; 

And,  cowering  to  the  earth,  I  drew 

From  her  strong  breast  my  strength  anew. 

When  I  arose,  I  wondering  saw 

Another  dusty  vapor  draw. 

From  the  far  right,  its  sluggish  way 

Toward  the  main  cloud,  that  frowning  lay 

Against  the  western  sloping  sun  : 

And  all  the  w^ar  was  re-begun. 

Ere  this  fresh  marvel  of  my  sense 

Caught  from  my  mind  significance. 

And  then — why  ask  me  ?     O  my  God  ! 

Would  I  had  lain  beneath  the  sod, 

A  patient  clod,  for  many  a  day. 

And  from  my  bones  and  mouldering  clay 

The  rank  field  grass  and  flowers  had  sprung, 

Ere  the  base  sight,  that  struck  and  stung 

My  very  soul,  confronted  me. 

Shamed  at  my  own  humanity. 

O  happy  dead  !  who  early  fell, 

Ye  have  no  wretched  tale  to  tell 

Of  causeless  fear  and  coward  flight. 

Of  victory  snatched  beneath  your  sight. 

Of  martial  strength  and  honor  lost, 

Of  mere  life  bought  at  any  cost. 


2i8         'Clpon  tbc  t>iU  before  Centrevflle 


Of  the  deep,  lingering  mark  of  shame, 
For  ever  scorched  on  brow  and  name, 
That  no  new  deeds,  however  bright, 
vShall  banish  from  men's  loathful  sight ! 

Ye  perished  in  your  conscious  pride. 
Ere  this  vile  scandal  opened  wide 
A  wound  that  cannot  close  nor  heal. 
Ye  perished  steel  to  levelled  steel, 
vStern  votaries  of  the  god  of  war. 
Filled  with  his  godhead  to  the  core  ! 
Ye  died  to  live,  these  lived  to  die. 
Beneath  the  scorn  of  every  eye  ! 
How  eloquent  your  voices  sound 
From  the  low  chambers  under  ground  ! 
How  clear  each  separate  title  burns 
From  your  high-set  and  laurelled  urns  ! 
While  these,  who  walk  about  the  earth, 
Are  blushing  at  their  very  birth  ! 
And,  though  they  talk,  and  go,  and  come. 
Their  moving  lips  are  worse  than  dumb. 
Ye  sleep  beneath  the  valley's  dew. 
And  all  the  nation  mourns  for  you  ; 
So  sleep  till  God  shall  wake  the  lands  ! 
For  angels,  armed  with  fiery  brands. 
Await  to  take  you  l)y  the  hands. 

The  right-hand  vapor  broader  grew  ; 
It  rose,  and  joined  itself  unto 


IHpon  tbc  1btU  before  Centrcvillc  219 

The  maiu  cloud  with  a  sudden  dash. 

lyoud  and  more  near  the  cannon's  crash 

Came  toward  me,  and  I  heard  a  sound 

As  if  all  hell  had  broken  bound — 

A  cry  of  agony  and  fear. 

Still  the  dark  vapor  rolled  more  near, 

Till  at  my  very  feet  it  tossed, 

The  vanward  fragments  of  our  host. 

Can  man.  Thy  image,  sink  so  low. 

Thou,  who  hast  bent  Thy  tinted  bow 

Across  the  storm  and  raging  main  ; 

Whose  laws  both  loosen  and  restrain 

The  powers  of  earth,  without  whose  will 

No  sparrow's  little  life  is  still  ? 

Was  fear  of  hell,  or  want  of  faith, 

Or  the  brute's  common  dread  of  death 

The  passion  that  began  a  chase, 

Whose  goal  was  ruin  and  disgrace  ? 

What  tongue  the  fearful  sight  may  tell  ? 

What  horrid  nightmare  ever  fell 

Upon  the  restless  sleep  of  crime — 

What  history  of  another  time — 

What  dismal  vision,  darkly  seen 

By  the  stern-featured  Florentine, 

Can  give  a  hint  to  dimly  draw 

The  likeness  of  the  scene  I  saw  ? 

I  saw,  yet  saw  not.     In  that  sea. 

That  chaos  of  humanity. 

No  more  the  eye  could  catch  and  keep 


lapon  the  t.Mll  before  Centrcvillc 


A  single  point,  than  on  the  deep 
The  eye  may  mark  a  single  wave, 
Where  hurrying  myriads  leap  and  rave. 
Men  of  all  arms,  and  all  costmnes, 
Bare-headed,  decked  with  broken  plumes 
Soldiers  and  officers,  and  those 
Who  wore  but  civil-suited  clothes  ; 
On  foot  or  mounted — some  bestrode 
vSteeds  severed  from  their  harnessed  load  ; 
Wild  mobs  of  white-topped  wagons,  cars, 
Of  wounded,  red  with  bleeding  scars  ; 
The  whole  grim  panoply  of  war 
Surged  on  me  with  a  deafening  roar  ! 
All  shades  of  fear,  disfiguring  man. 
Glared  through  their  faces'  brazen  tan. 
Not  one  a  moment  paused,  or  stood 
To  see  what  enemy  pursued. 
With  shrieks  of  fear,  and  yells  of  pain, 
With  every  muscle  on  the  strain, 
Onward  the  struggling  masses  bore. 
Oh  !  had  the  foemen  lain  before, 
They  'd  trampled  them  to  dust  and  gore. 
And  swept  their  lines  and  batteries 
As  autumn  sweeps  the  windy  trees  ! 
Here  one  cast  forth  his  wounded  friend, 
And  with  his  sword  or  musket-end 
Urged  on  the  horses  ;  there  one  trod 
Upon  the  likeness  of  his  God, 
As  if  't  were  dust  ;  a  coward  here 


lapon  tbc  1bill  before  Centreville  221 


Grew  valiant  with  his  very  fear, 

And  struck  his  weaker  comrade  prone, 

And  struo^gled  to  the  front  alone. 

All  had  one  purpose,  one  sole  aim, 

That  mocked  the  decency  of  shame, — 

To  i\y,  by  any  means  to  fly  ; 

They  cared  not  how,  they  asked  not  why. 

I  found  a  voice.     My  burning  blood 

Flamed  up.     Upon  a  mound  I  stood  ; 

I  could  no  more  restrain  my  voice 

Than  could  the  prophet  of  God's  choice. 

"  Back,  animated  dirt  !  "  I  cried, 

"  Back,  on  your  wretched  lives,  and  hide 

Your  shame  beneath  your  native  clay  ! 

Or  if  the  foe  affrights  you,  slay 

Your  own  base  selves  ;  and,  dying,  leave 

Your  children's  tearful  cheeks  to  grieve. 

Not  quail  and  blush,  when  you  shall  come. 

Alive,  to  their  degraded  home  ! 

Your  wives  will  look  askance  with  scorn  ; 

Your  boys,  and  infants  yet  unborn, 

Will  curse  you  to  God's  holy  face  ! 

Heaven  holds  no  pardon  in  its  grace 

For  cowards.     Oh  !  are  such  as  ye 

The  guardians  of  our  liberty  ? 

Back,  if  one  trace  of  manhood  still 

May  nerve  your  arm  and  brace  your  will  ! 

You  stain  your  country  in  the  eyes 

Of  Europe  and  her  monarchies  ! 


222         "Upon  tbc  Ibill  bctorc  Ccutrcvillc 


The  despots  laugh,  the  peoples  groan  ; 

Man's  cause  is  lost  and  overthrown  ! 

I  curse  you,  by  the  sacred  blood 

That  freely  poured  its  purple  flood 

Down  Bunker's  heights,  on  IMonmouth's  plain, 

From  Georgia  to  the  rocks  of  Maine  ! 

I  curse  you,  by  the  patriot  band 

Whose  bones  are  crumbling  in  the  land  ! 

By  those  who  saved  what  these  had  won — 

In  the  high  name  of  Washington  !  " 

Then  I  remember  little  more. 

As  the  tide's  rising  waves,  that  pour 

Over  some  low  and  rounded  rock, 

The  coming  mass,  with  one  great  shock, 

Flowed  o'er  the  shelter  of  my  mound, 

And  raised  me  helpless  from  the  ground. 

As  the  huge  shouldering  billows  bear. 

Half  in  the  sea  and  half  in  air, 

A  swimmer  on  their  foaming  crest. 

So  the  foul  throng  beneath  me  pressed. 

Swept  me  along,  with  curse  and  blow. 

And  flung  me — where,  I  ne'er  shall  know 

When  I  aw^oke,  a  steady  rain 
Made  rivulets  across  the  plain  ; 
And  it  was  dark — oh,  very  dark. 
I  was  so  stunned  as  scarce  to  mark 
The  ghostly  figures  of  the  trees. 
Or  hear  the  sobbing  of  the  breeze 


lapon  tbc  Ibill  betorc  Ccntrcville 


That  flung  the  wet  leaves  to  and  fro. 

Upon  me  lay  a  dismal  woe, 

A  boundless,  superhuman  grief, 

That  drew  no  promise  of  relief 

From  any  hope.     Then  I  arose, 

As  one  who  struggles  up  from  blows 

By  unseen  hands  ;  and  as  I  stood 

Alone,  I  thought  that  God  was  good, 

To  hide,  in  clouds  and  driving  rain. 

Our  low  world  from  the  angel  train. 

Whose  souls  filled  heroes  when  the  earth 

Was  worthy  of  their  noble  birth. 

By  that  dull  instinct  of  the  mind. 

Which  leads  aright  the  helpless  blind, 

I  struggled  onward,  till  the  dawn 

Across  the  eastern  clouds  had  drawn 

A  narrow  line  of  watery  gray  ; 

And  full  before  my  vision  lay 

The  great  dome's  gaunt  and  naked  bones 

Beneath  whose  crown  the  nation  thrones 

Her  queenly  person.     On  I  stole, 

With  hanging  head  and  abject  soul, 

Across  the  high  embattled  ridge. 

And  o'er  the  arches  of  the  bridge. 

So  freshly  pricked  my  sharp  disgrace, 

I  feared  to  meet  the  human  face. 

Skulking,  as  any  woman  might. 

Who  'd  lost  her  virtue  in  the  night. 

And  sees  the  dreadful  glare  of  day 


224  llpon  the  1f.Mll  before  CentrevUle 

Prepare  to  light  her  homeward  wa}, 

Alone,  heart-broken,  shamed,  und(»ne, 

I  staggered  into  Washington  ! 

Since  then  long  sluggish  days  have  passed, 

And  on  the  wings  of  every  blast 

Have  come  the  distant  nations'  sneers 

To  tingle  in  our  blushing  ears. 

In  woe  and  ashes,  as  was  meet, 

We  wore  the  penitential  sheet. 

But  now  I  ])reathe  a  purer  air, 

And  from  the  depths  of  my  despair 

Awaken  to  a  cheering  morn, 

Just  breaking  through  the  night  forlorn > 

A  mom  of  hopeful  victory. 

Awake,  my  countrymen,  with  me  ! 

Redeem  the  honor  which  you  lost. 

With  any  blood,  at  any  cost ! 

I  ask  not  how  the  war  began. 

Nor  how  the  quarrel  branched  and  ran 

To  this  dread  height.     The  wrong  or  right 

Stands  clear  before  God's  faultless  sight. 

I  only  feel  the  shameful  blow, 

I  only  see  the  scornful  foe. 

And  vengeance  burns  in  every  vein 

To  die,  or  wipe  away  the  stain. 

The  war-wise  hero  of  the  west, 

Wearing  his  glories  as  a  crest. 

Of  trophies  gathered  in  your  sight. 

Is  arming  for  the  '^oming  fight. 


Upon  tbc  UmU  before  Centreville  225 

Full  well  his  wiscloni  apprehends 
The  duty  and  its  miji^hty  ends  ; 
The  great  occasion  of  the  hour, 
That  never  lay  in  human  j)ovver 
Since  over  York  town's  tented  plain 
The  red  cross  fell,  nor  rose  again. 
!\Iy  humble  pledge  of  faith  I  lay, 
Dear  comrade  of  my  school-boy  day, 
Before  thee,  in  the  nation's  view, 
And  if  thy  prophet  prove  untrue. 
And  from  our  country's  grasp  be  thrown 
The  sceptre  and  the  starry  crown, 
And  thou,  and  all  thy  marshalled  host 
Be  baffled  and  in  ruin  lost ; 
Oh  !  let  me  not  outlive  the  blow- 
That  seals  my  country's  overthrow  ! 
And,  lest  this  woful  end  come  true, 
Men  of  the  North,  I  turn  to  you. 
Display  your  vaunted  flag  once  more. 
Southward  your  eager  columns  pour  ! 
Sound  trump,  and  fife,  and  rallying  drum  ; 
I'Vom  every  hill  and  valley  come. 
Old  men,  yield  up  your  treasured  gold  ! 
Can  liberty  be  priced  and  sold  ? 
Fair  matrons,  maids,  and  tender  brides 
Gird  weapons  to  your  lovers'  sides  ; 
And  though  your  hearts  break  at  the  deed, 
Give  them  your  blessing  and  God-speed  ; 
Then  point  them  to  the  field  of  flame, 


226  "Upon  tbc  Ibill  before  CcntrcpiUc 

With  words  like  those  of  Sparta's  dame ; 
And  when  the  ranks  are  full  and  strong, 
And  the  whole  army  moves  along, 
A  vast  result  of  care  and  skill, 
Obedient  to  the  master  will  ; 
And  your  young  hero  draws  the  sword, 
And  gives  the  last  commanding  word 
That  hurls  your  strength  upon  the  foe — 
Oh  !  let  them  need  no  second  blow. 
Strike,  as  your  fathers  struck  of  old  ; 
Through  summer's  heat,  and  winter's  cold  ; 
Through  pain,  disaster,  and  defeat; 
Through  marches  tracked  with  bloody  feet 
Through  every  ill  that  could  befall 
The  holy  cause  that  bound  them  all  ! 
Strike  as  they  struck  for  liberty  ! 
Strike  as  they  struck  to  make  you  free ! 
Strike  for  the  crown  of  victory  ! 


END  OF  vol..  I. 


PART    II. 


LYON. 

By  henry  PETERSON. 

SING,  bird,  on  green  Missouri's  plain, 
Thy  saddest  song  of  sorrow  ; 
Drop  tears,  O  clouds,  in  gentlest  rain 

Ye  from  the  winds  can  borrow  ; 
Breathe  out,  ye  wands,  your  softest  sigh, 

Weep,  flowers,  in  dewy  splendor. 
For  him  who  knew  well  how  to  die. 
But  never  to  surrender  ! 


Up  rose  serene  the  August  sun 

Upon  that  day  of  glory  ; 
Up  curled  from  musket  and  from  gun 

The  war-cloud  gray  and  hoary. 
It  gathered  like  a  funeral  pall 

Now  broken  and  now  blended. 
Where  rang  the  bugle's  angry  call. 

And  rank  with  rank  contended. 


I-'our  thousand  men,  as  l)ravc  and  Inie 

As  e'er  went  forth  in  daring, 
Upon  the  foe  that  morning  threw 

The  strength  of  their  despairing. 
They  feared  not  death — men  bless  the  field 

That  patriot  soldiers  die  on — 
Fair  Freedom's  cause  was  sword  and  shield, 

And  at  their  head  was  Lyon  ! 


The  leader's  troubled  soul  looked  forth 

From  eyes  of  troubled  brightness  ; 
vSad  soul  !  the  burden  of  the  North 

Had  pressed  out  all  its  lightness. 
He  gazed  upon  the  unequal  fight, 

His  ranks  all  rent  and  gory. 
And  felt  the  shadows  close  like  night 

Round  his  career  of  glor}-. 


"  General,  come  lead  us  !  "  loud  the  cr}- 

From  a  brave  band  was  ringing — 
"Lead  us,  and  we  will  stop,  or  die, 

That  battery's  awful  singing." 
He  spurred  to  where  his  heroes  stood. 

Twice  wounded — no  wound  knowing- 
The  fire  of  battle  in  his  blood 

And  on  his  forehead  glowing. 


Xv>on 

Oh,  cursed  for  aye  that  traitor's  hand, 

And  cursed  that  aim  so  deadly, 
Which  smote  the  bravest  of  the  land, 

And  dyed  his  bosom  redly  ! 
Serene  he  lay,  while  past  him  prest 

The  battle's  furious  billow. 
As  calmly  as  a  babe  may  rest 

Upon  its  mother's  pillow. 


So  Lyon  died  !  and  well  may  flowers 

His  place  of  burial  cover. 
For  never  had  this  land  of  ours 

A  more  devoted  lover. 
Living,  his  country  was  his  pride. 

His  life  he  gave  her  dying  ; 
Life,  fortune,  love — he  naught  denied 

To  her  and  to  her  sighing. 


Rest,  patriot,  in  thy  hillside  grave. 

Beside  her  form  who  bore  thee  ! 
Long  may  the  land  thou  diedst  to  save 

Her  bannered  stars  wave  o'er  thee ! 
Upon  her  history's  brightest  page, 

And  on  Fame's  glowing  portal. 
She  '11  wfite  thy  grand,  heroic  rage 

And  grave  thy  name  immortal. 


MY   MARYLAND. 

By  JAMES  R.  RANDALL. 

THE  despot's  heel  is  on  th}-  shore, 
^Maryland ! 
His  torch  is  at  thy  temple  door, 

Maryland  ! 
Avenge  the  patriotic  gore 
That  flecked  the  streets  of  Baltimore, 
And  be  the  battle  queen  of  yore, 
Mar^dand,  mv  Maryland  ! 


Hark  to  an  exiled  son's  appeal, 

Maryland ! 
My  Mother  State,  to  thee  I  kneel, 

Maryland  ! 
For  life  or  death,  for  woe  or  weal. 
Thy  peerless  chivalry  reveal,- 
And  gird  thy  beauteous  limbs  with  steel, 

Maryland,  my  Mar\-land  ! 
6 


/Ifcg  /iftar^lanC) 


Thou  wilt  not  cower  in  the  dust, 

Maryland  ! 
Thy  beaming  sword  shall  never  rust, 

Maryland  ! 
Remember  Carroll's  sacred  trust. 
Remember  Howard's  warlike  thrust, 
And  all  thy  slumberers  with  the  just, 

Maryland,  my  Maryland  ! 

Come  !  'tis  the  red  dawn  of  the  day, 

Maryland  ! 
Come  with  thy  panoplied  array. 

Maryland  ! 
With  Ringgold's  spirit  for  the  fray. 
With  Watson's  blood  at  Monterey, 
With  fearless  Lowe  and  dashing  May, 

Maryland,  my  Maryland ! 

Dear  Mother,  burst  the  tyrant's  chain, 

Maryland  ! 
Virginia  should  not  call  in  vain, 

Maryland  ! 
She  meets  her  sisters  on  the  plain, 
"  Sic  semper !  "  't  is  the  proud  refrain 
That  baffles  minions  back  amain, 

Maryland ! 
Arise  in  majesty  again, 

Maryland,  my  Maryland  \ 


iis^  /r>arslanD 


Come  !  for  thy  shield  is  bright  and  strong, 

ISIarj'land  ! 
Come  !  for  thy  dalliance  does  thee  wrong, 

Maryland  ! 
Come  to  thine  own  heroic  throng 
Stalking  with  liberty  along, 
And  chant  thy  dauntless  slogan-song, 

Maryland,  my  Maryland  ! 


I  see  the  blush  upon  thy  cheek, 

Maryland  ! 
But  thou  w^ast  ever  bravely  meek, 

Maryland  ! 
But  lo  !  there  surges  forth  a  shriek, 
From  hill  to  hill,  from  creek  to  creek, 
Potomac  calls  to  Chesapeake, 

Maryland,  my  Mary-land  ! 


Thou  wilt  not  yield  the  Vandal  toll, 

Maryland  ! 
Thou  wilt  not  crook  to  his  control, 

Maryland ! 
Better  the  fire  upon  thee  roll, 
Better  the  shot,  the  blade,  the  bowl, 
Than  crucifixion  of  the  soul, 

Maryland,  my  Maryland  ! 


/IRB  ^ar^lauD 


I  hear  the  distant  thunder-hum 

Maryland ! 
The  "  Old  Ivine's"  bugle,  fife,  and  drum, 

Maryland  ! 
She  is  not  dead,  nor  deaf,  nor  dumb ; 
Huzza  !  she  spurns  the  Northern  scum — 
She  breathes  !  She  burns  !  She  '11  come  !    She  '11  come  ! 

Maryland,  my  Maryland  ! 

[Southern.] 


BATTLE-HYMN    OF   THE  REPUBLIC. 

By  JULIA  WARD  HOWE. 

MINE  eves  have  seen  the  glory  of  the  coming  of  the 
Lord;        - 
He  is  trampling  out  the   vintage  where  the  grapes   of 

wrath  are  stored  ; 
He  hath  loosed  the  fateful  lightning  of  his  terrible  swift 
sword  : 

His  truth  is  marchinc^:  on. 


I  have  seen  Him  in  the  watch-fires  of  a  hundred  circling 

camps  ; 
Thev  have  builded  Him  an  altar  in  the  evening  dews  and 

damps  ; 
I  can  read  His  righteous  sentence  by  the  dim  and  flaring 

lamps  ; 

His  dav  is  marching  on. 


Mattlc^tf^mn  of  tbe  IRepublic 


1  have  read  a  fiery  gospel  writ  in  burnish'd  rows  of  steel ; 
"As  ye  deal  with  my  contemners,  so  with  you  my  grace 

shall  deal"  ; 
Let  the  Hero,  born  of  woman,  crush  the  serpent  with  his 

heel, 

Since  God  is  marching  on. 


He  has  sounded  forth  the  trumpet  that  shall  never  call 
retreat  ; 

He  is  sifting  out  the  hearts  of  men  before  His  judgment- 
seat  ; 

Oh,  be  swift,  my  soul,  to  answer  Him  !  be  jubilant,  my 
feet  ! 

Our  God  is  marching  on. 

In  the  beauty  of  the  lilies  Christ  wa3  born  across  the  sea, 
With  a  glory  in  His  bosom  that  transfigures  you  and  me  : 
As  He  died  to  make  men  holy,  let  us  die  to  make  men 
free, 

While  God  is  marching  on. 

Noveniber,  1861. 


THE    PICKET    GUARD. 

By  ETHEL  LYNN  BEERS. 

"   A  LL  quiet  along  the  Potomac,"  they  say, 
r\     "  Except  now  and  then  a  stray  picket 
Is  shot,  as  he  walks  on  his  beat,  to  and  fro. 

By  a  rifleman  hid  in  the  thicket. 
'T  is  nothing — a  private  or  two,  now  and  then. 

Will  not  count  in  the  news  of  the  battle  ; 
Not  an  officer  lost — only  one  of  the  men, 

Moaning  out,  all  alone,  the  death-rattle," 

All  quiet  along  the  Potomac  to-night. 

Where  the  soldiers  lie  peacefully  dreaming  ; 
Their  tents,  in  the  rays  of  the  clear  autumn  moon, 

Or  the  light  of  the  watch-fires,  are  gleaming. 
A  tremulous  sigh,  as  the  gentle  night  wind 

Through  the  forest  leaves  softly  is  creeping ; 
While  stars  up  above,  with  their  glittering  eyes, 

Keep  guard — for  the  army  is  sleeping. 

There  's  only  the  sound  of  the  lone  sentry's  tread. 
As  he  tramps  from  the  rock  to  the  fountain, 

12 


XTbe  picket  0uarD  13 

And  thinks  of  the  two  in  the  low  trundle  bed 
Kar  away  in  the  cot  on  the  mountain. 

His  musket  falls  slack — his  face,  dark  and  grim, 
Grows  gentle  with  memories  tender, 

As  he  mutters  a  prayer  for  the  children  asleep — 
For  their  mother — may  Heaven  defend  her  ! 

The  moon  seems  to  shine  just  as  brightly  as  then, 

That  night,  when  the  love  yet  unspoken — 
Leaped  up  to  his  lips — when  low-murmured  vows 

Were  pledged  to  be  ever  unbroken. 
Then  drawing  his  sleeve  roughly  over  his  eyes. 

He  dashes  off  tears  that  are  welling, 
And  gathers  his  gun  closer  up  to  its  place 

As  if  to  keep  down  the  heart-swelling. 

He  passes  the  fountain,  the  blasted  pine  tree — 

The  footstep  is  lagging  and  weary  ; 
Yet  onward  he  goes,  through  the  broad  belt  of  light. 

Towards  the  shades  of  the  forest  so  dreary. 
Hark  !  was  it  the  night  wind  that  rustled  the  leaves  ? 

Was  it  moonlight  so  wondrously  flashing  ? 
It  looks  like  a  rifle — ah  !  *'  Mary,  good-bye  !  " 

And  the  life-blood  is  ebbing  and  plashing. 

All  quiet  along  the  Potomac  to-night, 

No  sound  save  the  rush  of  the  river  ; 
While  soft  falls  the  dew  on  the  face  of  the  dead — 

The  picket's  off  duty  forever. 


Tin:    COUNTERSIGN. 


[In  his  admirably  edited  collection  of  poems  of  the 
civil  war,  entitled  "  Bugle  Echoes,"  Mr.  Francis  F. 
Browne  introduces  this  poem  with  the  following  note  : 

"  There  has  been  no  little  dispute  as  to  the  authorship 
of  this  poem.  The  Philadelphia  Press,  in  1861,  said  it 
was  '  written  by  a  private  in  Company  G,  Stuart's  en- 
gineer regiment,  at  Camp  Lesley,  near  Washington.' 
But  is  may  now  be  stated  positively  that  it  was  written 
by  a  Confederate  soldier,  still  living.  The  jjoem  is 
usually  printed  in  a  very  imperfect  form,  with  the 
fourth,  fifth,  and  .sixth  stanzas  omitted.  The  third  line 
of  the  fifth  stanza  affords  internal  evidence  of  Southern 
origin." — Editor.] 


THE  COUNTERSIGN. 

ALAS  !  the  weary  hours  pass  slow, 
The  night  is  very  dark  and  still 
And  in  the  marshes  far  below 
I  hear  the  bearded  whippoorwill  ; 


i6  ^be  Countersign 


I  scarce  can  see  a  yard  ahead, 

My  ears  are  strained  to  catch  each  sound  ; 
I  hear  the  leaves  about  me  shed, 

And  the  spring's  bubbUng  through  the  ground 


Along  the  beaten  path  I  pace, 

Where  white  rays  mark  my  sentry's  track  ; 
In  formless  shrubs  I  seem  to  trace 

The  foeman's  form  with  bending  back, 
I  think  I  see  him  crouching  low  ; 

I  stop  and  list — I  stoop  and  peer, 
Until  the  neighboring  hillocks  grow 

To  groups  of  soldiers  far  and  near. 

With  ready  piece  I  wait  and  watch. 

Until  my  eyes,  familiar  grown. 
Detect  each  harmless  earthen  notch. 

And  turn  guerrillas  into  stone  ; 
And  then,  amid  the  lonely  gloom. 

Beneath  the  tall  old  chestnut  trees. 
My  silent  marches  I  resume. 

And  think  of  other  times  than  these. 

Sweet  visions  through  the  silent  night  ! 

The  deep  bay  windows  fringed  with  vine 
The  room  within,  in  softened  light, 

The  tender,  milk-white  hand  in  mine  ; 


^be  Countersign 


The  timid  pressure,  and  the  pause 
That  often  overcame  our  speech — 

The  time  when  by  mysterious  laws 
We  each  felt  all  in  all  to  each. 

And  then  that  bitter,  bitter  day, 

When  came  the  final  hour  to  part ; 
When,  clad  in  soldier's  honest  gray, 

I  pressed  her  weeping  to  my  heart  ; 
Too  proud  of  me  to  bid  me  stay, 

Too  fond  of  me  to  let  me  go, 
I  had  to  tear  myself  away. 

And  left  her,  stolid  in  my  woe. 


So  rose  the  dream,  so  passed  the  night — 

When,  distant  in  the  darksome  glen, 
Approaching  up  the  sombre  height 

I  heard  the  solid  march  of  men  ; 
Till  over  stubble,  over  sward, 

And  fields  where  lay  the  golden  sheaf, 
I  saw  the  lantern  of  the  guard 

Advancing  with  the  night  relief. 


"Halt  !  Who  goes  there  ?  "  my  challenge  cry. 
It  rings  along  the  watchful  line  ; 

"  Relief  !  "  I  hear  a  voice  reply  ; 

"  Advance,  and  give  the  countersign  !  " 
Vol.  II. 


i8  XLbc  Countersign 


with  bayonet  at  the  charge  I  wait — 
The  corporal  gives  the  mystic  spell 

With  arms  aport  I  charge  my  mate, 
Then  onward  pass,  and  all  is  well. 

But  in  the  tent  that  night  awake, 

I  ask,  if  in  the  fray  I  fall. 
Can  I  the  mystic  answer  make 

When  the  angelic  sentries  call  ? 
And  pray  that  Heaven  may  so  ordain ^ 

Whene'er  I  go,  what  fate  be  mine, 
Whether  in  pleasure  or  in  pain, 

I  still  may  have  the  countersign 

[Southern.] 


)WK^^^^^ii.:ad^';^ 


JONATHAN    TO   JOHN. 


By  JAMES    RUSSELIv    I.OWELIv. 


[This  poem  is  a  part  of  the  second  series  of  "The 
Bigelow  Papers,"  a  work  wholly  unmatched  in  the 
literature  of  humor,  that  has  an  earnest  purpose  and 
well  matured  thought  for  its  sources  of  inspiration. 
The  poem  was  called  forth  by  what  is  known  as  "the 
Trent  affair."  Captain  Wilkes,  commanding  the  United 
States  man-of-war,  San  Jacinto^  boarded  the  British  mail 
steamer  Troit  on  the  8th  of  November,  1861,  and  took 
from  her  the  Confederate  commissioners  Mason  and 
Slidell.  Great  Britain  resented  the  act,  and  for  a  time 
there  was  serious  apprehension  of  war  between  that 
country  and  the  United  States  ;  but  as  the  seizure  of 
the  commissioners  on  board  a  neutral  vessel  was  deemed 
to  be  an  act  in  violation  of  international  law,  the  Gov- 
ernment at  Washington,  after  inquiry  into  the  facts, 
19 


5onatban  to  5obn 


surrendered  the  prisoners.  The  version  of  the  poeui 
here  given  is  a  correct  one,  taken  from  the  collected 
edition  of  Mr.  Lowell's  poems.  An  abridged  and  other- 
wise imperfect  version  is  given  in  many  collections. — 
Editor.] 


JONATHAN  TO  JOHN. 

IT  dou't  seem  liardl}'  right,  John, 
When  both  my  hands  was  full. 
To  stump  me  to  a  fight,  John, — 

Your  cousin,  tu,  John  Bull  ! 
Ole  Uncle  S.,  sez  he,  "  I  guess 

We  know  it  now,"  sez  he, 
"  The  Lion's  paw  is  all  the  law, 
Accordin'  to  J.  B., 
Thet  's  fit  fiDr  vou  an'  me  !  " 


You  wonder  why  we  're  hot,  John  ? 

Your  mark  wuz  on  the  guns. 
The  neutral  guns,  thet  shot,  John, 

Our  brothers  an'  our  sons  : 
Ole  Uncle  S.,  sez  he,  "  I  guess 

There  's  human  blood,"  sez  he, 
"  B}'  fits  an'  starts,  in  Yankee  hearts. 

Though  't  may  surprise  J.  B. 

More  'n  it  would  you  an'  me." 

21 


Jonathan  to  3obn 


Ef  /  turned  mad  dogs  loose,  John, 

On  your  front  parlor  stairs, 
Would  it  just  meet  your  views,  John, 

To  wait  an'  sue  their  heirs  ? 
Ole  Uncle  vS.,  sez  he,  "I  guess, 

I  on'y  guess,"  sez  he, 
"  Thet  ef  Vattel  on  his  toes  fell, 

'T  would  kind  o'  rile  J.  R., 

Ez  wal  ez  you  an'  me  ! " 

Who  made  the  law  thet  hurts.  John, 

Heads  1 7vin — ditto  tails  ? 
"J.  B."  was  on  his  shirts,  John, 

Onless  my  memory  fails. 
Ole  Uncle  S.,  sez  he,  "I  guess 

(I  'm  good  at  thet),"  sez  he, 
"  Thet  sauce  for  goose  ain'tyV.?/  the  juice 

For  ganders  with  J,  B., 

No  more  'n  with  you  or  me  !  " 

When  your  rights  was  our  wrongs,  John. 

You  did  n't  stop  for  fuss, — 
Brittany's  trident  prongs,  John. 

Was  good  'nough  law  for  us. 
Ole  Uncle  S.,  sez  he,  '*  I  guess, 

Though  physic  's  good,"  sez  he, 
"  It  does  n't  foller  thet  he  can  swaller 

Prescriptions  signed  ''J.  B.^ 

Put  up  by  you  an'  me." 


5onatban  to  5obn  23 

We  own  the  ocean,  tu,  John, 

You  mus'  n'  take  it  hard, 
Ef  we  can't  think  with  you,  John, 

It  's  just  your  own  back  yard, 
Ole  Uncle  S.,  sez  he,  "I  guess 

Ef  thct  '5  his  claim,"  sez  he, 
"The  fencin'  stuff  '11  cost  enough 

To  bust  up  friend  J.  B. 

Ez  wal  ez  you  an'  me  !  " 

Why  talk  so  dreffle  big,  John, 

Of  honor  when  it  meant 
You  did  n't  care  a  fig,  John, 

But  jest  for  ten  per  cent  ? 

Ole  Uncle  S.,  sez  he,  "  I  guess 

He  's  like  the  rest,"  sez  he  ; 
"  When  all  is  done,  it 's  number  one 

Thet  's  nearest  to  J.  B., 

Ez  wal  ez  t'  you  an'  me  !  " 

We  give  the  critters  back,  John, 

Cos  Abram  thought  't  was  right ; 
It  warn't  your  buUyin'  clack,  John, 

Provokin'  us  to  fight. 
Ole  Uncle  S.,  sez  he,  "  I  guess 

W^e  've  a  hard  row,"  sez  he, 
"  To  hoe  just  now  ;  but  thet,  somehow, 

May  happen  to  J.  B., 

Ez  wal  ez  vou  an'  me  !  " 


24  ^onatban  to  ^obn 

We  ain't  so  weak  an'  poor,  John, 

With  twenty  million  people, 
An'  close  to  every  door,  John, 

A  school  house  an'  a  steeple. 
Ole  Uncle  S.,  sez  he,  "  I  }:(uess 

It  is  a  fact,"  sez  he, 
"  The  surest  plan  to  make  a  Man 

Is,  think  him  so,  J.  B., 
^  Ez  much  ez  you  or  me  ! " 

Our  folks  believe  in  Law,  John  ; 

An'  it 's  fer  her  sake,  now. 
They  've  left  the  axe  an'  saw,  John, 

The  anvil  an'  the  plow. 
Ole  Uncle  S.,  sez  he,  "  I  guess, 

Ef  't  waru't  fer  law,"  sez  he, 
"There  'd  be  one  shindy  from  here  to  Indy 

An'  thct  don't  suit  J.  B. 

(When  't  ain't  'twixt  you  an'  me  !)  " 

We  know  we  've  got  a  cause,  John, 

Thet  's  honest,  just,  an'  true ; 
We  thought  't  would  win  applause,  John, 

Ef  nowhere  else,  from  you, 
Ole  Uncle  S.,  sez  he,  "  I  guess 

His  love  of  right,"  sez  he, 
"  Hangs  by  a  rotten  fibre  o'  cotton  ; 

There  's  natur'  in  J.  B., 

Ez  wal  ez  you  an'  me  !  " 


5onatban  to  John  25 

The  South  says,  "  Poor  folks  doiun  !  "  John, 

An'  ^^  All  men  up  !  "  say  we, — 
White,  yaller,  black,  an'  brown,  John  ; 

Now  which  is  your  idee  ? 
Ole  Uncle  S.,  sez  he,  "  T  guess 

John  preaches  wal,"  sez  he  ; 
"  But,  sermon  thru,  an'  come  to  du. 

Why  there  's  the  old  J.  B. 

A-crowdin'  you  an'  me!  " 

Shall  it  be  love  or  hate,  John  ? 

It  's  you  thet  's  to  decide  ; 
Ain't  ji/(5«r  bonds  held  by  Fate,  John, 

L,ike  all  the  world's  beside  ? 
Ole  Uncle  S.,  sez  he,  "I  guess 

Wise  men  fergive,"  sez  he, 
**  But  not  ferget ;  an'  some  time  yet 

Thet  truth  may  strike  J.  B., 

Ez  wal  ez  you  an'  me  !  " 

God  means  to  make  this  land,  John, 

Clear  thru,  from  sea  to  sea, 
Believe  an'  understand,  John, 

The  wuth  o'  bein'  free. 
Ole  Uncle  S.,  sez  he,  "  I  guess 

God's  price  is  high,"  sez  he  ; 
"  But  nothin'  else  than  wut  he  sells 

Wears  long,  an'  thet  J.  B. 

May  larn,  like  you  an'  me !  " 


THERI5  'S  LIFK  IX  TIIK  OIJ)  LAND  YET. 

By  JAMP:s  R.   RANDALL. 

[First  printed  in  the  Richvioud  Examiner.     Written 
while  the  author  was  in  prison.] 

BY  the  blue  Patapsco's  billowy  dash 
The  tyrant's  war-shout  conies, 
Along  with  cymbal's  fitful  clash, 

And  the  growl  of  his  sullen  drums. 
We  hear  it,  we  heed  it  with  vengeful  thrills, 

And  we  shall  not  forgive  or  forget  ; 
There  's  faith  in  the  streams,  there  's  hope  in  the  hills, 
There  's  life  in  the  old  land  yet ! 

Minions  !  we  sleep  but  we  are  not  dead  ; 

We  are  crushed,  we  are  scourged,  we  are  scarred ; 
We  crouch — 't  is  to  welcome  the  triumph  tread 

Of  the  peerless  Beauregard. 
Then  woe  to  your  vile,  polluting  horde, 

W' hen  the  Southern  braves  are  met ; 
There  's  faith  in  the  victor's  stainless  sword, 

There  's  life  in  the  old  land  yet  ! 

20 


^bere'6  %ite  in  tbc  ©ID  ILanD  ^ct         27 


Bigots  !  ye  quell  not  the  valiant  mind 

With  the  clank  of  an  iron  chain  ; 
The  spirit  of  freedom  sings  in  the  wind, 

O'er  Merrimau,  Thomas,  and  Kane  ; 
And  we,  though  we  smile  not,  are  not  thralls, — 

Are  piling  a  gory  debt ; 

While  down  by  McHenry's  dungeon  walls 

There  's  life  in  the  old  land  yet  I 

Our  women  have  hung  their  harps  away, 

And  they  scowl  on  your  brutal  bands. 
While  the  nimble  poniard  dares  the  day, 

In  their  dear,  defiant  hands. 
They  will  strip  their  tresses  to  string  our  bows, 

Ere  the  Northern  sun  is  set  ; 
There  's  faith  in  their  unrelenting  woes, 

There  's  life  in  the  old  land  yet  ! 

There  's  life,  though  it  throbbeth  in  silent  veins  — 

'Tis  vocal  without  noise  ; 
It  gushed  o'er  Manassas'  solemn  plains, 

From  the  blood  of  the  Maryi^and  Boys  ! 
That  blood  shall  cry  aloud,  and  rise 

With  an  everlasting  threat ; 
By  the  death  of  the  brave,  by  the  God  in  the  skies, 

There  's  life  in  the  old  land  yet  I 

[Southern.] 


NEVER  OR  NOW. 

By  OLIVKR  WKNDKIJ,  HOIvMES. 

LISTEN,  young  heroes  !  j-our  country  is  calling  ! 
Time  strikes  the  hour  for  the  brave  and  the  true  ! 
Now,  while  the  foremost  are  fighting  and  falling, 
Fill  up  the  ranks  that  have  opened  for  you  ! 

You  whom  the  fathers  made  free  and  defended, 
vStain  not  the  scroll  that  emblazons  their  fame  ! 

You  whose  fair  heritage  spotless  descended, 

Leave  not  your  children  a  birthright  of  shame  ! 

Stay  not  for  questions  while  Freedom  stands  gasping  ! 

Wait  not  till  Honor  lies  wrapped  in  his  pall  ! 
Brief  the  lips'  meeting  be,  swift  the  hands  clasping  : 

"  Off  for  the  wars  !  "  is  enough  for  them  all. 

Break  from  the  arms  that  would  fondly  caress  you  ! 

Hark  !  't  is  the  bugle-blast,  sabres  are  drawn  ! 
Mothers  shall  pray  for  you,  fathers  shall  bless  you, 

Maidens  shall  weep  for  you  when  you  are  gone  ! 

28 


IRcrcr  or  IKlovv  29 


Never  or  now  !  cries  the  blood  of  a  nation, 

Poured  on  the  turf  where  the  red  rose  should  bloom  ; 

Now  is  the  day  and  the  hour  of  salvation, — 
Never  or  now  !  peals  the  trumpet  of  doom  ! 

Never  or  now  !  roars  the  hoarse-throated  cannon 
Through  the  black  canopy  blotting  the  skies  ; 

Never  or  now  !  flaps  the  shell-blasted  pennon 
O'er  the  deep  ooze  where  the  Cumberland  lies  ! 

From  the  foul  dens  where  our  brothers  are  dying, 
Aliens  and  foes  in  the  land  of  their  birth, — 

From  the  rank  swamps  where  our  martyrs  are  lying. 
Pleading  in  vain  for  a  handful  of  earth, — 

From  the  hot  plains  where  they  perish  outnumbered, 
Furrowed  and  ridged  by  the  battle-field's  plough, 

Comes  the  loud  summons  ;  too  long  j'ou  have  slumbered, 
Hear  the  last  Angel-trump — Never  or  Now  ! 

1862. 


BOY  BRITTAN. 

(Battle  ol  Fort  Henry,  Tenn.,  Feb.  6,  1862.) 

BY  FORCEYTHE  WILI^SON. 
I. 

BOY  BRITTAN— only  a  lad — a  fair-haired  boy —sixteen, 
In  his  uniform, 
Into   the   storm — into  the   roaring    jav.-s    of    grim    Fort 

Henr>' — 
Boldly  bears  the  Federal  flotilla — 
Into  the  battle  storm  ! 


Boy  Brittan  is  master's  mate  aboard  of  the  Esse.v — 
There  he  stands,  buoyant  and  eager-eyed. 

By  the  brave  captain's  side  ; 
Ready  to  do  and  dare.     Aye,  aye,  sir  !  always  ready — 

In  his  countrj''s  uniform. 
Boom  !    Boom  !  and  now  the  flag-boat  sweeps,  and  now 
the  Essex, 

Into  the  battle  storm  ! 

30 


JSog  JBrittan  31 


Boom  !    Booth  !    till  river  and    fort  and    field   are   over- 
clouded 
By  battle's  breath  ;  then  from  the  fort  a  gleam 
And  a  crashing  gun,  and  the  Essex  is  wrapt  and  shrouded 
In  a  scalding  cloud  of  steam  ? 


But  victory  !  victory  ! 
Unto  God  all  praise  be  ever  rendered, 
Unto  God  all  praise  and  glory  be  ! 
See,  Boy  Brittan  !  see,  boy,  see  ! 

They  strike  !     Hurrah  !  the  fort  has  just  surrendered  ! 
Shout  !     Shout  !  my  boy,  my  warrior  boy  ! 
And  wave  your  cap  and  clap  your  hands  for  joy  ! 
Cheer  answer  cheer  and  bear  the  cheer  about — 
Hurrah  !     Hurrah  !  for  the  fier}^  fort  is  ours  ; 
And  "  Victory  !  "    "  Victory  !  "    "  Victory  !  " 

Is  the  shout. 
Shout — for  the  fiery  fort,  and  the  field,  and  the  day  are 

ours — 
The  day  is  ours — thanks  to  the  brave  endeavor 

Of  heroes,  boy,  like  thee  ! 
The  day  is  ours — the  day  is  ours  ! 

Glory  and  deathless  love  to  all  who  shared  with  thee, 
And  bravely  endured  and  dared  with  thee — 
The  day  is  ours — the  day  is  ours — 

Forever ! 


32  JBog  JSrittan 


Glory  aud  Love  for  one  and  all  ;  but — but — for  thee — 
Home!     Home!  a  happy  "Welcome — welcome  home" 
for  thee  ! 

And  kisses  of  love  for  thee — 
And  a  mother's  happy,  happy  tears,  and  a  virgin's  bridal 
wreath  of  flowers — 
For  thee ! 


V. 

Victory  !     Victory  !     .     .     . 
But  suddenly  wrecked  and  wrapt  in  seething  steam,  the 

Essex 
Slowly  drifted  out  of  the  battle's  storm  ; 
Slowly,  slowdy  down — laden  with  the  dead  and  dying  ; 
And  there  at  the  captain's  feet,  among  the  dead  and  the 

dying, 
The  shot-marred  form  of  a  beautiful  boy  is  lying — 
There  in  his  uniform  ! 


Laurels  and  tears  for  thee,  boy. 
Laurels  and  tears  for  thee  ! 
Laurels  of  light,  moist  with  the  precious  dew 
Of  the  inmost  heart  of  the  nation's  loving  heart. 
And  blest  by  the  balmy  breath  of  the  beautiful  and  the 
true  ; 


Mo^  :©rittan  33 


Moist — moist  with  the  luminous  breath  of  the  singing 
spheres 

And  the  nation's  starry  tears  ! 
And  tremble-touched  by  the  pulse-like  gush  and  start 
Of  the  universal  music  of  the  heart, 

And  all  deep  sympathy. 
Laurels  and  tears  for  thee,  boy, 

Ivaurels  and  tears  for  thee — 
Laurels  of  light  and  tears  of  love  forevermore — 

For  thee  ! 


And  laurels  of  light,  and  tears  of  truth. 

And  the  mantle  of  immortality  : 
And  the  flowers  of  love  and  immortal  youth, 
And  the  tender  heart-tokens  of  all  true  ruth- 

And  the  everlasting  victory  ! 
And  the  breath  and  bliss  of  Liberty  ; 
And  the  loving  kiss  of  Liberty  ; 
And  the  welcoming  light  of  heavenly  eyes, 
And  the  over-calm  of  God's  canopy  ; 
And  the  infinite  love-span  of  the  skies 
That  cover  the  valleys  of  Paradise — 
For  all  of  the  brave  who  rest  with  thee  ; 
And  for  one  and  all  who  died  with  thee, 
And  now  sleep  side  by  side  with  thee  ; 
And  for  every  one  who  lives  and  dies, 
On  the  solid  land  or  the  heaving  sea, 

Dear  warrior-boy— like  thee. 
Vol.  U. 


34 


JBog  JBrittan 


VIII. 

O  the  victory — the  victory 

Belongs  to  thee  ! 
God  ever  keeps  the  brightest  crown  for  such  as  thou- 

He  gives  it  now  to  thee  ! 
()  young  and  brave,  and  early  and  thrice  blest — 

Thrice,  thrice,  thrice  blest ! 
Thy  country  turns  once  more  to  kiss  thy  youthful  brow, 
And  takes  thee — gently — gently  to  her  breast  ; 
\nd   whispers  lovingly,    "God    bless   thee — bless    thee 


My  darling,  thou  shalt  rest !  " 


THE  "CUMBERLAND.' 


By  H.  W.  I.ONGFELI.OW. 


AT  anchor  in  Hampton  Roads  we  lay, 
On  board  the  Ciimherland  sloop  of  war, 
And  at  times  from  the  fortress  across  the  bay 
The  alarm  of  drums  swept  past, 
Or  a  bugle  blast 
From  the  camp  on  shore. 

Then  far  away  to  the  south  uprose 

A  little  feather  of  snow-white  smoke, 
And  we  knew  that  the  iron  ship  of  our  foes 
Was  steadily  steering  its  course 
To  try  the  force 
Of  our  ribs  of  oak. 

35 


36  Zbc  Cumberland 


Down  upon  us  heavily  runs, 

Silent  and  sullen,  the  floating  fort, 
Then  comes  a  puflof  smoke  from  her  guns, 
And  leaps  the  terrible  death, 
With  fiery  breath. 
From  each  open  port. 

We  are  not  idle  but  send  her  straight 

Defiance  back  in  a  full  broadside  ! 
As  hail  rebounds  from  a  roof  of  slate 
Rebounds  our  heavier  hail 
From  each  iron  scale 
Of  the  monster's  hide. 


"  Strike  your  flag  !  "  the  rebel  cries, 

In  his  arrogant  old  plantation  strain. 
"  Never  !  "  our  gallant  INIorris  replies  ; 

"  It  is  better  to  sink  than  to  yield  ! 
And  the  whole  air  pealed 
With  the  cheers  of  our  men. 


Then  like  a  kraken,  huge  and  black 

She  crushed  our  ribs  in  her  iron  grasp  ! 
Down  went  the  Cumberland  all  avvrack, 

With  a  sudden  shudder  of  death, 
And  the  cannon's  breath 
For  her  dying  gasp. 


XLbe  Cumberland 


37 


Next  morn,  as  the  sun  rose  over  the  bay, 

Still  floated  our  flag  at  the  mainmast  head. 
Lord,  how  beautiful  was  Thy  day  ! 
Every  waft  of  the  air 
Was  a  whisper  of  prayer, 
Or  a  dirge  for  the  dead. 

Ho  !  brave  hearts  that  went  down  in  the  seas, 

Ye  are  at  peace  in  the  troubled  stream. 
Ho  !  brave  land  !  with  hearts  like  these, 
Thy  flag,  that  is  rent  in  twain, 
Shall  be  one  again, 
And  without  a  seam  ! 


ON   BOARD   THE    "  CUMBKRLAND." 

(March  S,  1862.) 
By  GEORGE  H.  BOKEX. 

"  OTAND  to  your  guns,  men  !  "  Morris  cried. 
O     Small  need  to  pass  the  word  ; 
Our  men  at  quarters  ranged  themselves, 
Before  the  drum  was  heard. 

And  then  began  the  sailors'  jests : 

"What  thing  is  that,  I  say  ?" 
"  A  'long-shore  meeting-house  adrift 

Is  standing  down  the  bay  !  " 

A  frown  came  over  Morris'  face  ; 

The  strange,  dark  craft  he  knew  ; 
"  That  is  the  iron  iMerrimac, 

Manned  by  a  rebel  crew. 

"  So  shot  your  guns,  and  point  them  straight 

Before  this  day  goes  by, 
We  '11  try  of  what  her  metal  's  made," 

A  cheer  was  our  reply. 

38 


©n  3Boar&  tbe  Cumberlan&  39 

"  Remember  boys,  this  flag  of  ours 

Has  seldom  left  its  place  ; 
And  where  it  falls,  the  deck  it  strikes 

Is  covered  with  disgrace. 

"  I  ask  but  this  :  or  sink  or  swim, 

Or  live  or  nobly  die, 
Mj"  last  sight  upon  earth  may  be 

To  see  that  ensign  fly  !  " 

Meanwhile  the  shapeless  iron  mass 

Came  moving  o'er  the  wave, 
As  gloom}'  as  a  passing  hearse, 

As  silent  as  the  grave. 

Her  ports  were  closed,  from  stem  to  stem 

No  sign  of  life  appeared. 
We  wondered,  questioned,  strained  our  eyes, 

Joked, — every  thing  but  feared. 

She  reached  our  range.     Our  broadside  rang, 

Our  heavy  pivots  roared  ; 
And  shot  and  shell,  a  fire  of  hell. 

Against  her  sides  we  poured. 

God's  mercy  !  from  her  sloping  roof 

The  iron  tempest  glanced, 
As  hail  bounds  from  a  cottage-thatch. 

And  round  her  leaped  and  danced  ; 


40  On  JBoarD  tbc  CumbierlanD 

Or,  when  against  her  dusky  hull 
We  struck  a  fair,  full  blow, 

The  mighty,  solid  iron  globes 
Were  crumbled  up  like  snow. 

On,  on,  with  fast  increasing  speed, 

The  silent  monster  came  ; 
Though  all  our  starboard  battery 

Was  one  long  line  of  flame. 

See  heeded  not,  nor  gun  she  fired, 
vStraight  on  our  bow  she  bore  ; 

Through  riving  plank  and  crashing  frame 
Her  furious  way  she  tore. 

Alas !  our  beautiful,  keen  bow, 

That  in  the  fiercest  blast 
So  gently  folded  back  the  seas. 

They  hardly  felt  we  passed  ! 

Alas  !  Alas  !  My  Cumberland, 
That  ne'er  knew  grief  before. 

To  be  so  gored,  to  feel  so  deep 
The  tusk  of  that  sea-boar  ! 

Once  more  she  backward  drew  a  space, 
Once  more  our  side  she  rent  ; 

Then,  in  the  wantonness  of  hate, 
Her  broadside  through  us  sent. 


On  3Boar&  tbe  CumberlanO  41 

The  dead  and  dying  round  us  lay, 

But  our  foeman  lay  abeam  ; 
Her  open  portholes  maddened  us  ; 

We  fired  with  shout  and  scream. 

We  felt  our  vessel  settling  fast, 

We  knew  our  time  was  brief ; 
"  The  pumps,  the  pumps  !  "  But  they  who  pumped 

And  fought  not,  wept  with  grief. 

"  Oh,  keep  us  but  an  hour  afloat  ! 

Oh,  give  us  only  time 
To  be  the  instruments  of  heaven 

Against  the  traitors'  crime  !  " 

From  captain  down  to  powder-boy, 

No  hand  was  idle  then  ; 
Two  soldiers,  but  by  chance  aboard, 

Fought  on  like  sailor-men. 

And  when  a  gun's  crew  lost  a  hand, 

Some  bold  marine  stepped  out, 
And  jerked  his  braided  jacket  oif, 

And  hauled  the  gun  about. 

Our  forward  magazine  was  drowned  ; 

And  up  from  the  sick-bay 
Crawled  out  the  wounded,  red  with  blood, 

And  round  us  gasping  lay. 


42  On  JBoarD  tbe  Cumberland 


Yes,  cheering,  calling  us  by  name, 
Struggling  with  failing  breath, 

To  keep  their  shipmates  at  the  port, 
While  glory  strove  with  death. 

With  decks  afloat,  and  powder  gone. 
The  last  broadside  we  gave 

From  the  guns'  heated  iron  lips 
Burst  out  beneath  the  wave. 

So  sponges,  rammers,  and  handspikes- 
As  men-of-war's  men  should — 

We  placed  within  their  proper  racks, 
And  at  our  quarters  stood. 


I  " 


"  Up  to  the  spar-deck !  Save  yourselves 
Cried  Selfridge.     "  Up,  my  men  ! 

God  grant  that  some  of  us  may  live 
To  fight  yon  ship  again  !  " 

We  turned — we  did  not  like  to  go  ; 

Yet  staying  seemed  but  vain. 
Knee-deep  in  water  ;  so  we  left ; 

vSome  sw^ore,  some  groaned  with  pain. 

We  reached  the  deck.     Here  Randall  stood 

"  Another  turn,  men — so  !  " 
Calmly  he  aimed  his  pivot-gun  : 

"  Now,  Tenney,  let  her  go  !  " 


©n  :©oarD  tbe  CumberlanD  43 

It  did  our  sore  hearts  good  to  hear 

The  song  our  pivot  sang, 
As  rushing  on,  from  wave  to  wave, 

The  whirring  bomb-shell  .sprang. 

Brave  Randall  leaped  upon  the  gun, 

And  waved  his  cap  in  sport  ; 
"  Well  done  !  well  aimed  !  I  saw  that  shell 

Go  through  an  open  port." 

It  was  our  last,  our  deadliest  shot ; 

The  deck  was  over-flown  : 
The  poor  ship  staggered,  lurched  to  port, 

And  gave  a  living  groan. 

Down,  down,  as  headlong  through  the  waves 

Our  gallant  vessel  rushed, 
A  thousand  gurgling,  watery  sounds 

Around  my  senses  gushed. 

Then  I  remember  little  more  ; 

One  look  to  heaven  I  gave, 
Where,  like  an  angel's  wing,  I  saw 

Our  spotless  ensign  wave. 

I  tried  to  cheer,  I  cannot  say 

Whether  I  swam  or  sank  ; 
A  blue  mist  closed  around  my  eyes. 

And  every  thing  was  blank. 


44  On  .IGoarD  the  CiimbcrlanD 


When  I  awoke,  a  soldier-lad, 

All  dripping  from  the  sea, 
With  two  great  tears  upon  his  cheeks, 

Was  bending  over  me. 

I  tried  to  speak.     He  understood 

The  wish  I  could  not  speak. 
He  turned  me.     There,  thank  God  !  the  flag 

Still  fluttered  at  the  peak  ! 

And  there,  while  thread  shall  hang  to  thread, 

O  let  that  ensign  fly  ! 
The  noblest  constellation  set 

Against  our  northern  sky. 

A  sign  that  we  who  live  may  claim 

The  peerage  of  the  brave  ; 
A  monument,  that  needs  no  scroll, 

For  those  beneath  the  wave  ! 


THB   SWORD-BEARER. 

By  GEORGp:    H.  BOKKR. 

BRAVE  Morris  saw  the  day  was  lost  ; 
For  nothing  now  remained 
On  the  wrecked  and  sinking  Cumberland 
But  to  save  the  flag  unstained. 

So  he  swore  an  oath  in  the  sight  of  heaven 
(If  he  kept  it,  the  world  can  tell)  : 

"  Before  I  strike  to  a  rebel  flag, 
I  '11  sink  to  the  gates  of  hell  ! 

"  Here,  take  my  sword  ;  't  is  in  my  way  ; 

I  shall  trip  o'er  the  useless  steel  : 
For  I  '11  meet  the  lot  that  falls  to  all. 

With  my  shoulder  at  the  wheel." 

So  the  little  negro  took  the  sword, 
And  oh  !  with  what  reverent  care  ! 

Following  his  master  step  by  step, 
He  bore  it  here  and  there. 

45 


46  Zbc  SworDsJBcarcr 


A  thought  had  crept  through  his  sluggish  brain, 

And  shone  in  his  dusky  face, 
That  somehow — he  could  not  tell  just  how — 

'T  was  the  sword  of  his  trampled  race. 

And  as  Morris,  great  with  his  lion  heart, 
Rushed  onward  from  gun  to  gun, 

The  little  negro  slid  after  him, 
Like  a  shadow  in  the  sun. 

But  something  of  pomp  and  of  curious  pride 

The  sable  creature  wore. 
Which  at  any  time  but  a  time  like  that 

Would  have  made  the  ship's  crew  roar. 

Over  the  wounded,  dying,  and  dead, 

Like  an  usher  of  the  rod. 
The  black  page,  full  of  his  mighty  trust, 

With  dainty  caution  trod. 

No  heed  he  gave  to  the  flying  ball, 

No  heed  to  the  bursting  shell  ; 
His  duty  was  something  more  than  life. 

And  he  strove  to  do  it  well. 

Down,  with  our  starry  flag  apeak. 

In  the  whirling  sea  we  sank  ; 
And  captain  and  crew  and  the  sword-bearer 

Were  washed  from  the  bloody  plauk. 


Zbc  SworD*3Bearcr  47 


They  picked  us  up  from  the  hungry  waves — 

Alas  !  not  all.     And  where, 
Where  is  the  faithful  negro  lad? 

"Back  oars  !  avast !  look  there  !  " 

We  looked,  and  as  heaven  may  save  my  soul, 

I  pledge  you  a  sailor's  word, 
There,  fathoms  deep  in  the  sea  he  lay, 
Still  grasping  his  master's  sword. 

We  drew  him  out ;  and  many  an  hour 
We  wrought  with  his  rigid  form, 

Bre  the  almost  smothered  spark  of  life 
By  slow  degrees  grew  warm. 

The  first  dull  glance  that  his  eyeballs  rolled 
Was  down  toward  his  shrunken  hand  ; 

And  he  smiled,  and  closed  his  eyes  again, 
As  they  fell  on  the  rescued  brand. 

And  no  one  touched  the  sacred  sword, 
Till  at  length,  when  Morris  came. 

The  little  negro  stretched  it  out. 
With  his  eager  eyes  aflame. 

And  if  Morris  wrung  the  poor  boy's  hand. 
And  his  words  seemed  hard  to  speak. 

And  tears  ran  down  his  manly  cheeks, 
What  tongue  shall  call  him  weak  ? 


THE   OLD   vSERGEANT. 
By  FORCEYTHE  WII^I^ON. 

COME  a  little  nearer,  Doctor, — thauk  you  ! — let  me 
take  the  cup  : 
Draw  your  chair  up, — draw  it  closer, — ^just  another  little 

sup  ! 
Maybe  you  may  think  I  'm  better  ;  but  I  'm  pretty  well 

used  up, — 
Doctor,  you  've  done  all  you  could  do,  but  I  'm  just  a 
going  up  ! 

"  Feel  my  pulse,  sir,  if  3'ou  want  to,  but  it  ain't  nmch 

use  to  try — " 
"Never  say  that,"  said  the  surgeon,  as  he  smothered 

down  a  sigh  ; 
"  It  will  never  do,  old  comrade,  for  a  soldier  to  say  die  !" 
'*  What  you  say  will  make  no  difference,  Doctor,  when 

you  come  to  die. 

"  Doctor,  what  has  been  the  matter  ?  " — "  You  were  very 

faint,  they  say  ; 
You  must  try  to  get  to  sleep  now." — "Doctor,  have  I 

been  away  ? ' ' 

48 


^be  ®ID  Serjeant  49 


"Not  that  anybody  knows  of!" — "Doctor — Doctor, 

please  to  stay  ! 
There  is  something  I  must  tell  you,  and  you  won't  have 

long  to  stay  ! 

"  I  have  got  my  marching  orders,  and  I  'm  ready  now  to 

go; 

Doctor,  did  you  say  I  fainted  ! — But  it  could  n't  ha'  been 

so,— 
For  as  sure  as  I   'm  a  Sergeant,  and  was  wounded  at 

Shiloh, 
I  've  this  very  night  been  back  there,  on  the  old  field  of 

Shiloh  ! 

"  This  is  all  that  I  remember  :     The  last  time  the  lighter 

came, 
And  the  lights  had  all  been  lowered,  and  the  noises  much 

the  same, 
He  had  not  been  gone  five  minutes  before  something 

called  my  name  : 
'  Orderly  Sergeant — Robert  Burton  !  '—just  that 

way  it  called  my  name. 

"  And  I  wondered  who  could  call  me  so  distinctly  and  so 

slow% 
Knew  it  could  n't  be  the  lighter, — he  could  not  have 

spoken  so  ; 

Vol.  n. 


50  Zbe  ©15  Sergeant 


And  I  tried  to  answer,  *  Here,  sir ! '  but  I  could  n't  make 

it  go! 
Tor  I  could  n't  move  a  muscle,  and  I  could  n't  make  it 

go  ! 

"Then   I  thought:    It  'sail  a  nightmare,  all  a  humbug 

and  a  bore  : 
Just  another  iooMsh  i^^raprz' if w ''' — and  it  won't  come  any 

more  ; 
But  it  came,  sir,  notwithstanding,  just  the  same  way  as 

before  : 
*  Orderxy  Sergeant— Robert  Burton  I '  even  plainer 

than  before. 

"That  is  all  that  I   remember,  till  a  sudden   burst  of 

light. 
And  I  stood  beside  the  river,  where  we  stood  that  Sunday 

night, 
Waiting  to  be  ferried  over  to  the  dark  bluffs  opposite. 
When  the  river  was  perdition  and  all  hell  was  opposite  ! 

"And  the  same  old   palpitation  came   again    in    all  its 

power. 
And  I  heard  a  bugle  sounding,  as  from  some  celestial 

tower  ; 

*  The  troops  during  the  war  were  accustomed  to  express  their 
incredulity,  when  news  could  not  be  traced  to  a  trustworthy  source, 
bv  saying'that  the  tidings  had  been  received  bv  "grapevine  tele- 
graph. ' '    Hence  a  canard  was  called  a  ' '  grapevine. '  —Editor. 


^be  ©Id  Scrcieant  51 


And  the  same  mysterious  voice  said:  '  It  is  Thk  EI.EV- 

enth  hour ! 
OrdkrIvY    Sergeant — Robert    Burton— It    is   the 

ei.eventh  hour !  ' 


"Doctor  Austin  ! — what  day  is  this?" — "It  is  Wednes- 

uesday  night,  you  know." 
"Yes, — to-morrow  will  be  New^  Year's,  and  a  right  good 

time  below  ! 
What   time  is  it.  Doctor  Austin?" — "Nearly  twelve." 

"  Then  don't  you  go  !  " 
Can  it  be  that  all  this  happened — all  this- -not  an  hour 

ago! 

"  There  was  w^here  the  gun-boats   opened  on  the  dark, 

rebellious  host, 
And  where  Webster  semi-circled  his  last  guns  upon  the 

coast ; 
There  were  still  the  two  log-houses,  just  the   same,  or 

else  their  ghost, — 
And  the  same  old  transport  came  and  took  me  over — 

or  its  ghost  ! 

"And  the  old  field  lay  before  me  all  deserted  far  and 

wide ; 
There  was  where  they  fell  on  Prentice, — there  McCler- 

nand  met  the  tide  : 


52  Ubc  OlD  Sergeant 


There   was   where    stern    Sherman    rallied,    and    where 

Hurlbut's  heroes  died, — 
Lower  down,   where  Wallace  charged  them,   and   kept 

charging  till  he  died. 

"There  was  where  Lew  Wallace  showed  them  he  was  of 

the  canny  kin, 
There  was    where    old    Nelson    thundered,    and    where 

Rousseau  waded  in  ; 
Then  McCook  sent  'em  to  breakfast  and  we  all  began 

to  win — 
There  was  where  the  grape-shot   took   me,  just   as   we 

began  to  win. 

"  Now,  a  shroud  of  snow  and  silence  over  every  thing 

was  spread  ; 
And  but  for  this   old  blue  mantle  and  the  old  hat  on 

my  head, 
I  should  not  have  even  doubted,  to  this  moment  I  was 

dead, — 
For  my  footsteps  were  as  silent  as  the  snow  upon  the 

dead  ! 

"  Death   and   silence  ! — Death   and   silence  !    all  around 

me  as  I  sped  ! 
And  behold  a  mighty  Tower,  as  if  builded  to  the  dead, — 
To  the  Heaven  of  the  heavens,  lifted  up  its  mighty  head, 
Till  the  vStars  and  Stripes  of  Heaven  all  seemed  waving 

from  its  head ! 


Cbe  ©ID  Sergeant  53 


"  Round  aud  mighty-based  it  towered — up  into  the  in- 
finite— 

And  I  knew  no  mortal  mason  could  have  built  a  shaft 
so  bright  ; 

For  it  shone  like  solid  sunshine  ;  and  a  winding  stair 
of  light, 

Wound  around  it  and  around  it  till  it  wound  clear  out 
of  sight ! 


"And,    behold,    as    I   approached  it — with    a   rapt   and 

dazzled  stare, — 
Thinking  that  I  saw  old    comrades  just  ascending  the 

great  stair — 
Suddenly  the  solemn  challenge  broke  of, — '  Halt  !  and 

who  goes  there  ? ' 
'I  'm  a   friend,'  I   said,   'if  you  are.' — ' Then  advance, 

sir,  to  the  stair  !  * 


"  I  advanced  ! — that  sentry,  Doctor,  was  Elijah  Ballan- 

tyne  ! — 
First  of  all  to  fall  on  Monday,  after  we  had  formed  the 

line  : 
'  Welcome,  my  old  Sergeant,  welcome  !   welcome  by  that 

countersign  ! ' 
And  he  pointed  to  the  scar  there,  under  this  old  cloak 

of  mine  ! 


54  ^be  ^10  Seraeant 

"  As  he  jrrasped  my  hand,  I  shuddered,  thinking  only 
of  the  .t(rave  ; 

But  he  smiled  and  pointed  upward,  with  a  bright  and 
Ijloodless  glaive  ; 

'That's  the  way,  sir,  to  head-quarters.' — 'What  head- 
quarters? ' — 'Of  the  brave.' 

'  But  the  great  tower  ? ' — '  That  was  builded  of  the  great 
deeds  of  the  brave.' 


"  Then  a  sudden  shame  came  o'er  me  at  his  uniform  of 
light ; 

At  my  own  so  old  and  tattered,  and  at  his  so  new  and 
bright ; 

'  Ah !  '  said  he,  you  have  forgotten  the  new  uniform  to- 
night,— 

Hurry  back,  for  j-ou  must  be  here  at  just  twelve  o'clock 
to-night ! ' 


"  And   the   next    thing   I  remember,   you   were   sitting 

there,  and  I — 
Doctor — did  you  hear  a  footstep?  Hark  ! — God  bless  you 

all  !     Good-bye  ! 
Doctor,  please  to  give  my  musket  and  my  knapsack  when 

I  die, 
To  my  son — my  son  that  's  coming. — he  won't  get  here 

till  I  die  ! 


^be  (^ID  Serjeant 


55 


"Tell  him  his  old  father  blessed  him  as  he  never  did 

before, — 
And  to  carry  that  old  nmsket " — Hark  !    a  knock  is  at 

the  door  ! — 
"  Till  the  Union  "—See  !  it  opens  !— "  Father  !   Father  ! 

Speak  once  more  !  " 
''  Bless  you  /"—gasped  the  old  gray  Sergeant,  and  he  lay 

and  said  no  more. 


THE    "VARUNA." 

(Sunk  April  24,  1S62.) 
By  GEORGE  H.  BOKER. 

WHO  has  not  heard  of  the  dauntless  Varuna  ? 
Who  has  not  heard  of  the  deeds  she  has  done? 
Who  shall  not  hear,  while  the  brown  Mississippi 
Rushes  along  from  the  snow  to  the  sun  ? 

Crippled  and  leaking  she  entered  the  battle, 

Sinking  and  burning  she  fought  through  the  fray  ; 

Crushed  were  her  sides  and  the  waves  ran  across  her, 
Ere,  like  a  death  wounded  lion  at  bay, 

Sternly  she  closed  in  the  last  fatal  grapple, 
Then  in  her  triumph  moved  grandly  away. 

Five  of  the  rebels,  like  satellites  round  her, 
Burned  in  her  orbit  of  splendor  and  fear  ; 

One,  like  the  pleiad  of  mystical  story, 

Shot,  terror-stricken,  beyond  her  dread  sphere. 

56 


Uhe  Daruna  57 


We  wlio  are  waiting  with  crowns  for  the  victors, 
Though  we  should  offer  the  wealth  of  our  store, 

Load  the  J^arufia  from  deck  down  to  kelson, 
Still  would  be  niggard,  such  tribute  to  pour 

On  courage  so  boundless.     It  beggars  possession, — 

It  knocks  for  just  payment  at  heaven's  bright  door  ! 

Cherish  the  heroes  who  fought  the  Varuna  ; 

Treat  them  as  kings  if  they  honor  your  way  ; 
Succor  and  comfort  the  sick  and  the  wounded  ; 

Oh  !  for  the  dead  let  us  all  kneel  to  pray  ! 


TIIlv  RIV1:R  l-ICIIT. 

By  henry  HOWARD  HROWNKIJ.. 

[Admiral  I'arrai^ut  was  so  impressed  with  this  irre><iilar 
but  sjiirited  description  of  the  river  battle  below  New 
Orleans  that  he  sought  out  the  author  and  their  acquaint- 
ance ended  in  a  warm  friendship.  Brownell  having  ex- 
pressed a  desire  to  witness  a  naval  conflict,  Farraguttook 
him  on  l)oard  the  Flagship  Hartford  at  the  time  of  the 
storming  of  the  Mobile  forts,  and  the  poet  repaid  the 
courtesy  with  the  poem  which  appears  elsewhere  in  this 
collection,  called  "The  Bay  Fight."— Kditok.J 

DO  you  know  of  the  dreary  land, 
If  land  such  region  may  seem. 
Where  't  is  neither  sea  nor  strand. 
Ocean,  nor  good,  dry  land, 
lUit  the  nightmare  marsh  of  a  dream  ? 
Where  the  Mighty  River  his  death-road  takes, 
'Mid  pools  and  windings  that  coil  like  snakes, 
A  hundred  leagues  of  bayous  and  lakes. 
To  die  in  the  great  Gulf  Stream  ? 

58 


Che  IRircr  JFuibt  59 


No  coast-line  clear  and  true, 

Granite  and  deep-sea  blue, 

On  that  dismal  shore  you  pass, 

Surf-worn  boulder  or  sandy  beach, — 

But  ooze-flats  as  far  as  the  eye  can  reach, 

With  shallows  of  water-grass  ; 

Reedy  Savannahs,  vast  and  dun, 

Lying  dead  in  the  dim  March  sun  ; 

Huge,  rotting  trunks  and  roots  that  lie 

Like  the  blackened  bones  of  shapes  gone  by, 

And  miles  of  sunken  morass. 

No  lovely,  delicate  thing 

Of  life  o'er  the  waste  is  seen 

But  the  cayman  couched  by  his  weedy  spring, 

And  the  pelican,  bird  unclean. 

Or  the  buzzard,  flapping  with  heavy  wing. 

Like  an  evil  ghost  o'er  the  desolate  scene. 

Ah  !  many  a  weary  day 

With  our  Leader  there  we  lay. 

In  the  sultry  haze  and  smoke, 

Tugging  our  ships  o'er  the  bar. 

Till  the  spring  was  wasted  far. 

Till  his  brave  heart  almost  broke. 

Tor  the  sullen  river  seemed 

As  if  our  intent  he  dreamed, — 

All  his  sallow  mouths  did  spew  and  choke. 


6o  ^be  IRiver  Jigbt 


But  ere  April  fully  passed 

All  ground  over  at  last 

And  we  knew  the  die  was  cast, — 

Knew  the  day  drew  nigh 

To  dare  to  the  end  one  stormy  deed, 

Might  save  the  land  at  her  sorest  need, 

Or  on  the  old  deck  to  die  ! 

Anchored  we  lay, — and  a  morn  the  more, 

To  his  captains  and  all  his  men 

Thus  wrote  our  old  commodore — 

(He  was  n't  Admiral  then)  : — 

"  Generai,  Orders  : 

Send  your  to'gallant  masts  down, 

Rig  in  each  flying  jib-boom  ! 

Clear  all  ahead  for  the  loom 

Of  traitor  fortress  and  town, 

Or  traitor  fleet  bearing  down 

"  In  with  your  canvas  high  ; 

We  shall  want  no  sail  to  fly  ! 

Top  sail,  foresail,  spanker,  and  jib, 

(With  the  heart  of  oak  in  the  oaken  rib,) 

Shall  serve  us  to  win  or  die  ! 

"  Trim  every  sail  by  the  head, 

(So  shall  you  spare  the  lead,) 

Lest  if  she  ground,  your  ship  swing  round, 

Bows  in  shore,  for  a  wreck. 


^be  IRiver  ifiabt  6i 

See  your  grapnels  all  clear  with  pains, 

And  a  solid  kedge  in  your  port  main-chains, 

With  a  whip  to  the  main  yard  : 

Drop  it  heavy  and  hard 

When  you  grappel  a  traitor  deck  ! 

"  On  forecastle  and  on  poop 
Mount  guns,  as  best  you  may  deem. 
If  possible,  rouse  them  up 
(For  still  you  must  bow  the  stream). 
Also  hoist  and  secure  with  stops 
Howitzers  firmly  in  your  tops, 
To  fire  on  the  foe  abeam. 

"  Look  well  to  your  pumps  and  hose  ; 
Have  water  tubs  fore  and  aft, 
For  quenching  flame  in  your  craft, 
And  the  gun  crew's  fiery  thirst. 
See  planks  with  felt  fitted  close, 
To  plug  every  shot-hole  tight. 
Stand  ready  to  meet  the  worst ! 
For,  if  I  have  reckoned  aright, 
They  will  serve  us  shot. 
Both  cold  and  hot. 
Freely  enough  to-night. 

"  Mark  well  each  signal  I  make,— 
(Our  life-long  service  at  stake, 


62  Zbc  fRxvcv  J^igbt 

And  honor  that  must  not  lag  !) 

What  e'er  the  peril  and  awe, 

In  the  battle's  fieriest  flaw, 

Let  never  one  ship  withdraw 

Till  the  orders  come  from  the  flag  !  " 


Would  you  hear  of  the  river  fight? 
It  was  two  of  a  soft  spring  night ; 
God's  stars  looked  down  on  all  ; 
And  all  was  clear  and  bright 
But  the  low  fog's  clinging  breath ; 
Up  the  River  of  Death 
Sailed  the  great  Admiral. 


On  our  high  poop-deck  he  stood, 

And  round  him  ranged  the  men 

Who  have  made  their  birthright  good 

Of  manhood  once  and  again, — 

Lords  of  helm  and  of  sail, 

Tried  in  tempest  and  gale, 

Bronzed  in  battle  and  wreck. 

Bell  and  Bailey  grandly  led 

Each  his  line  of  the  Blue  and  Red  ; 

Wainwright  stood  by  our  starboard  rail  ; 

Thorutou  fought  the  deck, 


^be  mvcv  jFiabt  63 


And  I  mind  me  of  more  than  they, 
Of  the  youthful,  steadfast  ones, 
That  have  shown  them  worthy  sons 
Of  the  seamen  passed  away. 
Tyson  conned  our  helm  that  day  ; 
Watson  stood  by  his  guns. 

What  thought  our  Admiral  then, 

Looking  down  on  his  men  ? 

Since  the  terrible  day, — 

(Day  of  renown  and  tears  !) 

When  at  anchor  the  Essex  lay, — 

Holding  her  foes  at  bay, — 

When  a  boy  by  Porter's  side  he  stood. 

Till  deck  and  plank-shear  w^ere  dyed  with  blood 

'T  is  half  a  hundred  years, — 

Half  a  hundred  years  to  a  day  ! 


Who  could  fail  with  him  ? 

Who  reckon  of  life  or  limb  ? 

Not  a  pulse  but  beat  the  higher  ! 

There  had  you  seen,  by  the  starlight  dim, 

Five  hundred  faces  strong  and  grim  : 

The  Flag  is  going  imder  fire  ! 

Right  up  by  the  fort. 

With  her  helm  hard  aport, 

The  Hartford  is  going  under  fire  ! 


64  Cbc  "River  jfuibt 

The  way  to  our  work  was  plain. 
Caldwell  had  broken  the  chain 
(Two  hulks  swunj^  down  amain 
Soon  as  't  was  sundered;. 
Under  the  night's  dark  blue, 
Steering  steady  and  true, 
Ship  after  ship  went  through, 
Till,  as  we  hove  in  view, 
"Jackson  "  out-thundered  ! 


Back  echoed  "  Philip  !  "  ah  !  then 

Could  you  have  seen  our  men. 

How  they  sprung  in  the  dim  night  haze. 

To  their  work  of  toil  and  of  clamor  ! 

How  the  boarders,  with  sponge  and  rammer 

And  their  captains,  with  cord  and  hammer, 

Kept  every  muzzle  ablaze. 

How  the  guns,  as  with  cheer  and  shout — 

Our  tackle-men  hurled  them  out — 

Brought  up  on  the  water-ways  ! 

First,  as  we  fired  at  their  flash,  * 

'T  was  lightning  and  black  eclipse, 

With  a  bellowing  roll  and  crash. 

But  soon,  upon  either  bow. 

What  with  forts  and  fire-rafts  and  ships, 

(The  whole  fleet  was  hard  at  it  now,) 

All  pounding  away  ! — and  Porter 


Zbc  IRivcr  jfiabt  65 

Still  thundering  with  shell  and  mortar, — 
'T  was  the  mighty  sound  and  form  ! 

(Such  you  see  in  the  far  vSouth, 
After  long  heat  and  drought, 
As  day  draws  nigh  to  even. 
Arching  from  north  to  south. 
Blinding  the  tropic  sun, 
The  great  black  bow  conies  on. 
Till  the  thunder-veil  is  riven, — 
When  all  is  crash  and  levin. 
And  the  cannonade  of  heaven 
Rolls  down  the  Amazon  !) 

But,  as  we  worked  along  higher. 

Just  where  the  river  enlarges, 

Down  came  a  pyramid  of  fire, — 

It  was  one  of  your  long  coal  barges. 

(We  had  often  had  the  like  before.) 

'T  was  coming  down  on  us  to  larboard. 

Well  in  with  the  eastern  shore  ; 

And  our  pilot,  to  let  it  pass  round, 

(You  may  guess  we  never  stopped  to  sound) 

Giving  us  a  rank  sheer  to  starboard, 

Ran  the  Flag  hard  and  fast  aground  ! 

-T  was  nigh  abreast  of  the  Upper  Fort, 
And  straightway  a  rascal  ram 


66  Zbc  IRircr  jflabt 


(She  was  shaped  like  the  Devil's  dam) 
Puffed  away  for  us,  with  a  snort, 
And  shoved  it,  with  spiteful  strength, 
Right  alongside  of  us  to  port. 
It  was  all  of  our  ship's  length,— 
A  huge,  crackling  Cradle  of  the  Pit ! 
Pitch-pine  knots  to  the  brim, 
Belching  flame  red  and  grim. 
What  a  roar  came  up  from  it ! 

Well,  for  a  little  it  looked  bad  : 
But  these  things  are,  somehow,  shorter, 
In  the  acting  than  in  the  telling  ; 
There  was  no  singing  out  or  yelling, 
Or  any  fussing  and  fretting, 
No  stampede,  in  short  ; 
But  there  we  were,  my  lad, 
All  afire  on  our  port  quarter, 
Hammocks  ablaze  in  the  netting, 
Flames  spouting  in  at  every  port, 
Our  fourth  cutter  burning  at  the  davit 
(No  chance  to  lower  away  and  save  it). 

In  a  twinkling,  the  flames  had  risen 

Half  way  to  maintop  and  mizzen, 

Darting  up  the  shrouds  like  snakes  ! 

Ah,  how  we  clanked  at  the  brakes. 

And  the  deep,  steaming  pumps  throbbed  under, 

Sending  a  ceaseless  flow. 


tTbe  IRiver  affgbt  67 

Our  topmen,  a  dauntless  crowd, 

Swarmed  in  rigging  and  shroud  : 

There,  ('t  was  a  wonder  !) 

The  burning  ratlines  and  strands 

They  quenched  with  their  bare,  hard  hands  ; 

But  the  great  guns  below 

Never  silenced  their  thunder. 

At  last,  by  backing  and  sounding. 
When  we  were  clear  of  grounding, 
And  under  headway  once  more, 
The  whole  rebel  fleet  came  rounding 
The  point.     If  we  had  it  hot  before, 
'T  was  now  from  shore  to  shore, 
One  long,  loud,  thundering  roar, — 
Such  crashing,  splintering,  and  pounding, 
And  smashing  as  you  never  heard  before  ! 

But  that  we  fought  foul  wrong  to  wreck, 
And  to  save  the  land  we  loved  so  well, 
You  might  have  deemed  our.  long  gun-deck 
Two  hundred  feet  of  hell  ! 

For  above  all  was  battle, 
Broadside,  and  blaze,  and  rattle, 
Smoke  and  thunder  alone  ; 
(But,  down  in  the  sick-bay, 
Where  our  wounded  and  dying  lay, 
There  was  scarce  a  sob  or  a  moan). 


68  Zbc  tRivcv  ificjbt 

And  at  last,  when  the  dim  day  broke, 
And  the  sullen  sun  awoke, 
Drearily  blinking 

O'er  the  haze  and  the  cannon  smoke, 
That  ever  such  morning  dulls, — 
There  were  thirteen  traitor  hulls 
On  fire  and  sinking! 


Now,  up  the  river  ! — through  mad  Chalmette 

Sputters  a  vain  resistance  yet, 

Small  helm  we  gave  her  our  course  to  steer, — 

'T  was  nicer  work  then  you  well  would  dream, 

With  cant  and  sheer  to  keep  her  clear 

Of  the  burning  wrecks  that  cumbered  the  strcian. 


The  Louisiana,  hurled  on  high, 

Mounts  in  thunder  to  meet  the  sky  ! 

Then  down  to  the  depths  of  the  turbid  flood,  ^ 

Fifty  fathom  of  rebel  mud ! 

The  Mississippi  comes  floating  down, 

A  mighty  bonfire  from  off  the  town  ; 

And  along  the  river,  on  stocks  and  ways, 

A  half-hatched  devil's  brood  is  ablaze, — 

The  great  Anglo-Norman  is  all  in  flames, 

(Hark  to  the  roar  of  her  trembling  frames  !) 

And  the  smaller  fry  that  Treason  would  spawn 

Are  lighting  Algiers  like  an  angry  dawn  ! 


^be  IRiver  jfigbt  69 

From  stem  to  stern,  how  the  pirates  burn, 
Fired  by  the  furious  hands  that  built ! 
So  to  ashes  forever  turn 
The  suicide  wrecks  of  wrong  and  guilt  ! 

But  as  we  neared  the  cit}-. 
By  field  and  vast  plantation, 
(Ah  !  millstone  of  our  nation  !) 
With  wonder  and  with  pity, 
What  crowds  we  there  espied 
Of  dark  and  wistful  faces, 
Mute  in  their  toiling  places, 
Strangely  and  sadly  eyed, 
Haply  'mid  doubt  and  fear, 
Deeming  deliverance  near, 
(One  gave  the  ghost  of  a  cheer  !) 

And  on  that  dolorous  strand. 
To  greet  the  victor  brave, 
One  flag  did  welcome  wave — 
Raised,  ah  me  !  by  a  wretched  hand, 
All  outworn  on  our  cruel  land, — 
The  withered  hand  of  a  slave  ! 

But  all  along  the  levee, 
In  a  dark  and  drenching  rain, 
(By  this  't  was  pouring  heavy,) 
Stood  a  fierce  and  sullen  train, 
A  strange  and  frenzied  time  ! 


70  Zbe  "River  jfigbt 


There  were  scowling  rage  and  pain, 
Curses,  howls,  and  hisses. 
Out  of  Hate's  black  abysses, — 
Their  couraj^e  and  their  crime 
All  in  vain — all  in  vain  ! 

For  from  the  hour  that  the  Rebel  vStream 
With  the  Crescent  City  lying  abeai.i. 
Shuddered  under  our  keel, 
Smit  to  the  heart  with  self-struck  sting, 
Slavery  died  in  her  scorpion-ring 
And  Murder  fell  on  his  steel. 

'T  is  well  to  do  and  dare ; 
But  ever  may  grateful  prayer 
Follow,  as  aye  it  ought, 
When  the  good  fight  is  fought, 
When  the  true  deed  is  done. 
Aloft  in  heaven's  pure  light, 
(Deep  azure  crossed  on  white,) 
Our  fair  Church  pennant  waves 
O'er  a  thousand  thankful  braves. 
Bareheaded  in  God's  bright  sun. 

Lord  of  mercy  and  frown, 
Ruling  o'er  sea  and  shore, 
vSend  us  such  scene  once  more  ' 
All  in  line  of  battle 


^be  IRiver  3fiabt 


71 


When  the  black  ships  bear  down 
On  tyrant  fort  and  town, 
'Mid  cannon  cloud  and  rattle  ; 
And  the  great  guns  once  more 
Thunder  back  the  roar 
Of  the  traitor  walls  ashore, 
And  the  traitor  flags  come  down. 


By  THOMAS  BUCHANAN  READ. 


UP  from  the  south,  at  break  of  day, 
Brining  to  Winchester  fresh  dismay, 
The  affrighted  air  with  a  shudder  bore, 
Like  a  herald  in  haste  to  the  chieftain's  door, 
The  terrible  grumble,  and  rumble,  and  roar. 
Telling  the  battle  was  on  once  more, 
And  vSheridan  twenty  miles  away. 


And  wider  still  those  billows  of  war 
Thuudcr'd  along  the  horizon's  bar  ; 
And  louder  \ct  into  Winchester  roll'd 


SberiDan'g  1Rl^e  73 

The  roar  of  that  red  sea  uiicontroird, 
!Makiii<^  the  blood  of  the  listener  cold, 
As  he  thought  of  the  stake  in  that  fiery  fray, 
With  Sheridan  twenty  miles  away. 

But  there  is  a  road  from  Winchester  town, 
A  good  broad  highway  leading  down  : 
And  there,  through  the  flush  of  the  morning  light, 
A  steed  as  black  as  the  steeds  of  uight 
Was  seen  to  pass,  as  with  eagle  flight. 
As  if  he  knew  the  terrible  need 
He  stretch'd  away  with  his  utmost  speed  ; 
Hills  rose  and  fell  ;  but  his  heart  was  gay, 
With  Sheridan  fifteen  miles  away. 

Still  sprang  from  those  swift  hoofs,  thundering  south, 
The  dust  like  smoke  from  the  cannon's  mouth. 
Or  the  trail  of  a  comet,  sweeping  faster  and  faster, 
Foreboding  to  traitors  the  doom  of  disaster. 
The  heart  of  the  steed  and  the  heart  of  the  master 
Were  beating  like  prisoners  assaulting  their  walls. 
Impatient  to  be  where  the  battle-field  calls  ; 
E\'ery  nerve  of  the  charger  was  strained  to  full  play. 
With  Sheridan  only  ten  miles  away. 

Under  his  spurning  feet,  the  road, 
Like  an  arrowy  Alpine  river  flow'd 
And  the  landscape  sped  away  behind 
Like  an  ocean  flying  before  the  wind  ; 


74  Sberi^an*6  "Ki^c 

And  the  steed,  like  a  bark  fed  with  furnace  ire, 
Swept  on,  with  his  wild  eye  full  of  fire. 
But,  lo  !  he  is  Hearing  his  heart's  desire  ; 
He  is  snuffing  the  smoke  of  the  roaring  fray, 
With  vSheridan  only  five  miles  away. 

The  first  that  the  general  saw  were  the  groups 
Of  stragglers,  and  then  the  retreating  troops  ; 
What  was  done?  what  to  do?  a  glance  told  him  both. 
Then  striking  his  spurs  with  a  terrible  oath, 
He  dash'd  down  the  line,  'mid  a  storm  of  huzzas. 
And  the  wave  of  retreat  checked  its  course  there,  becauf 
The  sight  of  the  master  compell'd  it  to  pause. 
With  foam  and  with  dust  the  black  charger  was  gray  ; 
By  the  flash  of  his  eye.  and  the  red  nostril's  play, 
He  seem'd  to  the  whole  great  army  to  sa\'  : 
"  I  have  brought  you  vSheridan  all  the  way 
From  Winchester  down  to  save  the  day." 

Hurrah  !  hurrah  for  Sheridan  ! 

Hurrah  !  hurrah  for  horse  and  man  ! 

And  when  their  statues  are  placed  on  high. 

Under  the  dome  of  the  Union  sky, 

The  American  soldier's  Temple  of  Fame, 

There  with  the  glorious  general's  name 

Be  it  said,  in  letters  both  bold  and  bright : 

"  Here  is  the  steed  that  saved  the  day 
By  carrying  Sheridan  into  the  fight, 

From  Winchester, — twenty  miles  away  !  " 


KEARNEY    AT    SEVEN    PINES. 

By  EDMUND  CIvARENCE  STEDMAN. 

SO  that  soldierly  legend  is  still  on  its  journey — 
That  story  of  Kearney  who  knew  not  to  yield  ! 
'T  was  the  day  when  with  Jameson,   fierce  Berry,  and 
Birney, 
Against  twenty  thousand  he  rallied  the  field. 

Where  the  red  volleys  poured,  where  the  clamor  rose 
highest, 
Where  the  dead  lay  in  clumps  through  the  dwarf  oak 
and  pine. 
Where  the  aim  from  the  thicket  was  surest  and  nighest. 
No  charge  like  Phil  Kearney's  along  the  w'hole  line. 


When  the  battle  went  ill,  and  the  bravest  were  solemn. 
Near  the  dark  Seven  Pines,   where  we  still  held  our 
ground, 

He  rode  down  the  length  of  the  withering  column. 
And  his  heart  at  our  war-cry  leapt  up  with  a  bound. 

He  snuffed,  like  his  charger,  the  wind  of  the  powder, — 
His  sword  waved  us  on,  and  we  answered  the  sign  ; 

75 


76  Ikcarncp  at  Seven  pines 


Loud  our  cheer  as  we  rushed,    but   his   kiu^h   ranj^  the 
louder  : 
"There  's  the  devil's  own  fun,  ])oys,  along  the   whole 
line!" 


How  he  strode  his  brown  steed  !     How  we  saw  his  blade 
brighten 

In  the  one  hand  still  left — and  the  reins  in  his  teeth  ! 
He  laughed  like  a  boy  when  the  holidays  heighten. 

But  a  soldier's  glance  shot  from  his  visor  beneath. 
Up  came  the  reserves  to  the  mellay  infernal, 

Asking  where  to  go  in — through  the  clearing  or  pine? 
"  (111,  anywhere  !    Forward  !    'T  is  all  the  same,  Colonel : 

You  '11  find  lovely  fighting  along  the  whole  line  !  " 


Oh,  evil  the  black  shroud  of  night  at  Chantilly, 

That  hid  him  from  sight  of  his  brave  men  and  tried  ! 
Foul,  foul  sped  the  bullet  that  clipped  the  white  lily, 

The  flower  of  our  knighthood,  the  whole  army's  pride  ! 
Yet  we  dream  that  he  still — in  that  shadowy  region 

Where  the  dead  form  their  ranks  at  the  wan  drum- 
mer's sign — 
Rides  on,  as  of  old,  down  the  length  of  his  legion. 

And  the  word  still  is  Forward  !  along  the  whole  line. 


STONEWALL  JACKSON'S  WAY. 

By  J.  W.  PAI.MER. 

[Mr.  William  Gihnore  Simnis  tells  us  that  this  poem, 
stained  with  blood,  was  found  on  the  person  of  a  dead 
soldier  of  the  Stonewall  brigade  after  one  of  Jackson's 
battles  in  the  Shenandoah  Valley.  Its  authorship,  long 
unknown,  has  been  discovered  by  Mr.  Francis  F.  Browne. 
— Editor.] 

COME,  stack  arms,  men  !     Pile  on  the  rails. 
Stir  up  the  camp-fire  bright ; 
No  growling  if  the  canteen  fails, 

We  '11  make  a  roaring  night. 
Here  Shenandoah  brawls  along. 
There  burly  Blue  Ridge  echoes  strong. 
To  swell  the  brigade's  rousing  song 

Of  "Stonewall  Jackson's  way." 

We  see  him  now — the  queer  slouched  hat 

Cocked  o'er  his  eye  askew  ; 
The  shrewd,  dry  smile  ;  the  speech  so  pat, 

So  calm,  so  blunt,  so  true. 

■/'/ 


78  Stonewall  ^achson's  lUag 


The  •*  Blue-light  Elder  "  knows  'em  well  ; 
Says  he,  "That  's  Bank's — he  's  fond  of  shell 
Lord  save  his  soul !  we  '11  give  him —  "  well ! 
That  's  "  Stonewall  Jackson's  way." 

Silence!  ground  arms!  kneel  all!  caps  off! 

Old  Blue  Light 's  goin'  to  pray. 
Strangle  the  fool  that  dares  to  scoff! 

Attention  !  it 's  his  way. 
Appealing  from  his  native  sod, 
\\\  forma  pauperis  to  God  : 
"  Lay  bare  Thine  arm  ;  stretch  forth  Thy  rod 

Amen  !  "     That 's  "  Stonewall's  waj-." 

He  's  in  the  saddle  now.     Fall  in  ! 

Steady  !  the  whole  brigade  ' 
Hill  's  at  the  ford,  cut  off;  we  '11  win 

His  way  out,  ball  and  blade  ! 
What  matter  if  our  shoes  are  worn  ? 
What  matter  if  our  feet  are  torn  ? 
"  Quick  step  !  we  're  with  him  before  morn  !  '' 

That's  *' Stonewall  Jackson's  way." 

The  sun's  bright  lances  rout  the  mists 
Of  morning,  and,  by  George  ! 

Here  's  Longstreet,  struggling  in  the  lists, 
Hemmed  in  an  ugly  gorge. 


stonewall  5acl?son's  "Mag  79 


Pope  and  liis  Dutchmen,  whipped  before  ; 
"  Bay' nets  and  grape  !  "  hear  Stonewall  roar  ; 
"  Charge,  Stuart  !     Pay  off  Ashby's  score  ! " 
In  '*  Stonewall  Jackson's  way," 

Ah  !  Maiden,  wait  and  watch  and  yearn 
For  news  of  Stonewall's  band  ! 

Ah  !  Widow,  read,  with  eyes  that  burn. 
That  ring  upon  thy  hand. 

Ah  !  Wife,  sew  on,  pray  on,  hope  on  ; 

Thy  life  shall  not  be  all  forlorn  ; 

The  foe  had  better  ne'er  been  born 

That  gets  in  "Stonewall's  way.^' 

[Southern.] 


MARCHIN(;  ALONG. 


«Y  WIIJJAM   H.  BRADHURY. 


[Duriiii^  the  Civil  War  this  sont^  was  frequently  suug 
upon  the  march  by  the  soldiers  of  the  Army  of  the  Poto- 
mac. Except  "When  this  Cruel  War  is  Over"  and  the 
doggerel  about  "John  Brown's  Body,"  there  was  scarcely 
any  song  so  often  heard.  The  name  of  the  leader  was 
changed,  from  time  to  time,  to  accord  with  the  facts. 
—Editor.] 

THE  army  is  gathering  from  near  and  from  far  ; 
The  trumpet  is  sounding  the  call  for  the  war  ; 
McClellan  's  our  leader,  he  's  gallant  and  strong  ; 
We  '11  gird  on  our  armor  and  be  marching  along. 


Chorus. — Marching  along,  we  are  marching  along, 
Gird  on  the  armor  and  be  marching  along  ; 
McClellan  's  our  leader,  he  's  gallant  and  strong; 
For  God  and  our  country  we  are  marchiugaloug. 

So 


^arcbing  Bloug  81 

The  foe  is  before  us  in  battle  array, 

But  let  us  not  waver,  or  turn  from  the  way  ; 

The  Lord  is  our  strength,  and  the  Union's  our  song  ; 

With  coiurage  and  faith  we  are  marching  along. 

Chorus. — Marching  along,  etc. 

Our  wives  and  our  children  we  leave  in  your  care  ; 
We  feel  you  will  help  them  with  sorrow  to  bear  : 
'T  is  hard  thus  to  part,  but  we  hope  't  won't  be  long  : 
We  '11  keep  up  our  heart  as  we  're  marching  along. 

Chorus. — Marching  along,  etc. 

We  sigh  for  our  country,  we  mourn  for  our  dead  ; 
I'or  them  now  our  last  drop  of  blood  we  will  shed  ; 
Our  cause  is  the  right  one — our  foe  's  in  the  wrong  ; 
Then  gladly  we  '11  sing  as  we  're  marching  along. 

Chorus. — Marching  along,  etc. 

The  flag  of  our  country  is  floating  on  high  ; 
We  '11  stand  by  that  flag  till  we  conquer  or  die  ; 
McClellan  's  our  leader,  he  's  gallant  and  strong  ; 
We  '11  gird  on  our  armor  and  be  marching  along. 

Chorus. — Marching  along,  etc. 


Vol.  II. 


THE  BURIAL  OF  LATANE. 

By  JOHN  R.  THOMPSON. 

[Captaiu  Latane,  of  Stuart's  Confederate  cavalry  was 
killed  during  the  Pamunkey  expedition  in  1862.  He  was 
buried  by  a  company  of  women,  one  of  whom  read  the 
service  for  the  dead,  while  a  little  girl  strewed  flowers  on 
the  grave. — Editor.] 


THE  combat  raged  not  long,  but  ours  the  day  ; 
And,  through  the  hosts  that  compassed  us  around, 
Our  little  band  rode  proudly  on  its  way, 
Leaving  one  gallant  comrade,  glor^'-crowned, 
Unburied  on  the  field  he  died  to  gain — 
vSingle  of  all  his  men,  amid  the  hostile  slain. 

One  moment  on  the  battle's  edge  he  stood — 
Hope's  halo,  like  a  helmet,  round  his  hair  ; 
The  next  beheld  him,  dabbled  in  his  blood, 
Prostrate  in  death — and  yet,  in  death  how  fair  ! 
Even  thus  he  passed  through  the  red  gates  of  strife, 
From  earthly  crowns  and  palms,  to  an  immortal  life. 
82 


^be  JSurial  of  Xatane  83 

A  brother  l;ore  his  body  from  the  field, 

And  gave  it  luito  strar.ij^ers'  hands,  that  closed 

The  calm  blue  eyes,  on  earth  forever  sealed, 

And  tenderly  the  slender  limbs  composed  : 

Strangers,  yet  sisters,  who,  with  Mary's  love, 

Sat  by  the  open  tomb,  and,  weeping,  looked  above. 

A  little  child  strewed  roses  on  his  bier — 

Pale  roses,  not  more  stainless  than  his  soul, 

Nor  yet  more  fragrant  than  his  life  sincere. 

That  blossomed  with  good  actions — brief,  but  whole  ; 

The  aged  matron  and  the  faithful  slave 

Approached  with  reverent  feet  the  hero's  lowly  grave. 

No  man  of  God  might  say  the  burial  rite 
Above  the  "  rebel  " — thus  declared  the  foe 
That  blanched  before  him  in  the  deadly  fight  ; 
But  woman's  voice,  with  accents  soft  and  low. 
Trembling  with  pity — touched  with  pathos— read 
Over  his  hallowed  dust  the  ritual  for  the  dead. 


"  'T  is  sown  in  weakness,  it  is  raised  in  power  !  " 

Softly  the  promise  floated  on  the  air, 

While  the  low  breathings  of  the  sunset  hour 

Came  back  responsive  to  the  mourner's  prayer. 

Gently  they  laid  him  underneath  the  sod, 

And  left  him  with  his  fame,  his  country,  and  his  God  ! 


84  trbe  JBurial  of  Xatanc 

Let  us  not  weep  for  him,  whose  deeds  endure  ! 
So  young,  so  brave,  so  beautiful  !     He  died 
As  he  had  wished  to  die  ;  the  past  is  sure  ; 
Whatever  yet  of  sorrow  may  l^etide 
Those  who  still  linger  by  the  stormy  shore, 
Change  cannot  harm  him  now,  nor  fortune  touch  him 
more 

[Southern.] 


TARDY  GEORGE. 

[This  poem  was  written  at  a  time  when  the  impatience 
of  the  Northern  people  with  the  delay  of  McClellan  to 
make  use  of  the  means  so  lavishly  provided  for  him,  was 
scarcely  to  be  restrained.  For  man}-  months  McClellan 
had  been  in  command  of  a  vast  army,  perfectly  equipped 
and  thoroughly  disciplined,  yet  month  after  month  went 
by  with  nothing  done  and  nothing  attempted.  The  dis- 
content of  the  people  found  much  angrier  expression 
than  was  given  to  it  in  these  stanzas,  but  this  is  one  of 
the  best  metrical  protests  that  appeared. — Editor.] 

WHAT  are  you  waiting  for,  George,  I  pray  ? 
To  scour  your  cross-belts  with  fresh  pipe-cla}-  ? 
To  burnish  your  buttons,  to  brighten  your  guns  ; 
Or  wait  you  for  May-day  and  warm-spring  suns  ? 
Are  you  blowing  your  fingers  because  they  are  cold, 
Or  catching  your  breath  ere  you  take  a  hold  ? 
Is  the  mud  knee-deep  in  valley  and  gorge  ? 
What  are  you  waiting  for,  tardy  George  ? 

85 


56  ^ar^B  Ocoxgc 


Want  you  a  thousand  more  cannon  made, 
To  add  to  the  thousand  now  arrayed  ? 
Want  you  more  men,  more  money  to  pay  ? 
Are  not  two  millions  enough  per  day  ? 
Wait  you  for  gold  and  credit  to  go, 
Before  we  shall  see  your  martial  show  ; 
Till  Treasury  Notes  will  not  pay  to  forge  ? 
What  are  you  waiting  for,  tardy  George  ? 

Are  you  waiting  for  your  hair  to  turn, 
Your  heart  to  soften,  your  bowels  to  yearn 
A  little  more  toward  "our  Southern  friends," 
As  at  home  and  abroad  they  work  their  ends? 
"  Our  vSouthern  friends  !  "  whom  you  hold  so  dear 
That  you  do  no  harm  and  give  no  fear, 
As  you  tenderly  take  them  by  the  gorge — 
What  are  you  waiting  for,  tardy  George  ? 

Now  that  you  've  marshalled  your  whole  command. 
Planned  what  you  would,  and  changed  what  you  plannetl 
Practised  with  shot  and  practised  with  shell. 
Know  to  a  hair  where  every  one  fell, 
]\Iade  signs  by  day  and  signals  by  night  ; 
Was  it  all  done  to  keep  out  of  a  fight  ? 
Is  the  whole  matter  too  heavy  a  charge  ? 
What  are  you  waiting  for,  tardy  George  ? 

Shall  we  have  more  speeches,  more  reviews  ? 
Or  are  you  waiting  to  hear  the  news  ; 


trar&^  6C0VQC  ^i 


To  hold  up  your  hands  in  mute  surprise, 
When  France  and  England  shall  "  recognize  "  ? 
Are  you  too  grand  to  fight  traitors  small  ? 
Must  you  have  a  nation  to  cope  withal  ? 
Well,  hammer  the  anvil  and  blow  the  forge — 
You  '11  soon  have  a  dozen,  tardy  George. 

Suppose  for  a  moment,  George,  my  friend — 
Just  for  a  moment — you  condescend 
To  use  the  means  that  are  in  your  hands, 
The  eager  muskets  and  guns  and  brands  ; 
Take  one  bold  step  on  the  Southern  sod. 
And  leave  the  issue  to  watchful  God  ! 
For  now  the  nation  raises  its  gorge. 
Waiting  and  watching  you,  tardy  George. 

I  should  not  much  wonder,  George,  my  boy,, 

If  Stanton  get  in  his  head  a  toy. 

And  some  fine  morning,  ere  you  are  out. 

He  send  you  all  "  to  the  right  about  " — 

You  and  Jomini,  and  all  the  crew 

Who  think  that  war  is  nothing  to  do 

But  to  drill  and  cipher,  and  hammer  and  forge- 

What  are  you  waiting  for,  tardy  George  ? 

January,  1862. 


WAXTRD— A  MAN. 

BY    EDMUND   CIvARKNCK   STEDMAN. 

[This  virile  cry  for  a  fit  leader  for  the  Army  of  the 
Potomac  was  inspired  by  au  editorial  article  of 
Henry  J.  Raymond  in  the  NccU  York  Times.  It  was 
written  in  1862,  when  the  popular  feelin_<(  of  cha<i^rin  and 
humiliation  over  McClellan's  failure  and  Pope's  disaster 
at  Manassas  was  most  intense.  Mr,  Lincoln  was  so 
strongly  impressed  by  the  poem  that  he  read  it  to  his 
Cabinet. — Editor.] 


BACK  from  the  trebly  crimsoned  field 
Terrible  words  are  thunder-tost  ; 
Full  of  the  wrath  that  will  not  yield, 

Full  of  revenge  for  battles  lost  ! 
Hark  to  their  echo,  as  it  crost 

The  Capital,  making  faces  wan  : 
"  Fnd  this  murderous  holocaust  ; 
Abraham  IJncoln,  give  us  a  IVIAN  ! 
88 


Mantel— a  /ftait  89 


"  Give  us  a  man  of  God's  own  niouid, 

Born  to  marshal  bis  fellow-men  ; 
One  whose  fame  is  not  bought  and  sold 

At  the  stroke  of  a  politician's  pen  ; 
Give  us  the  man  of  thousands  ten, 

Fit  to  do  as  well  as  to  plan  ; 
Give  us  a  rallying-cry,  and  ther. , 

Abraham  Lincoln,  give  us  a  MAN  ! 

'*  No  leader  to  shirk  the  boasting  foe. 

And  to  march  and  countermarch  our  brave. 

Till  they  fall  like  ghosts  in  the  marshes  low. 
And  swamp-grass  covers  each  nameless  grave 

Nor  another,  whose  fatal  banners  wave- 
Aye  in  disaster's  shameful  van  ; 

Nor  another,  to  bluster,  and  lie,  and  rave, — 
Abraham  Lincoln,  give  us  a  ]\L\N  ! 

*'  Hearts  are  mourning  in  the  North, 

While  the  vsister  rivers  seek  the  main, 
Red  with  our  life-blood  flowing  forth — 

Who  shall  gather  it  up  again  ? 
Though  we  march  to  the  battle-plain 

Firmly  as  when  the  strife  began, 
Shall  all  our  offering  be  in  vain  ? — 

Abraham  Lincoln,  give  us  a  MAN  ! 

"  Is  there  never  one  in  all  the  land, 

One  on  whose  might  the  Cause  may  lean  ? 


oo  '^IUlantc^— H  Aan 


Are  all  the  common  ones  so  grand, 
And  all  the  titled  ones  so  mean  ? 

What  if  your  failure  may  have  been 

In  trying  to  make  good  bread  from  bran, 

From  worthless  metal  a  weapon  keen  ? — 
Abraham  Lincoln,  find  us  a  MAN  ! 

"  Oh,  we  will  follow  him  to  the  death. 

Where  the  foeman's  fiercest  columns  are  ! 
Oh,  we  will  use  our  latest  breath, 

Cheering  for  every  sacred  star  ! 
His  to  marshal  us  high  and  far  ; 

Ours  to  battle,  as  patriots  can 
When  a  hero  leads  the  Holy  War  ! — 

Abraham  Lincoln,  give  us  a  MAN  !  " 


OVERTURES  FROM  RICHMOND. 

A    NEW    LILLI15ULERO. 

BY    1'.   J.    CHILD. 

''  \  1  7ELL,  Uncle  Sam,"  says  Jefferson  D., 

VV     Lillibulero,  old  Uncle  Sam, 
"  You  Ml  have  to  join  my  Confed'racy," 

Lillibulero,  old  Uncle  Sam. 
"  Lero,  lero,  that  don't  appear  O,  that  don't  appear,' 

Says  old  Uncle  Sam, 
"  Lero,  lero,  fillibustero,  that  don't  appear," 

Says  old  Uncle  Sam, 


"  So,  Uncle  Sam,  just  lay  down  your  arms," 

Lillibulero,  old  L'ncle  Sam, 
"  Then  you  shall  hear  my  reas'nable  terms," 

Lillibulero,  old  Uncle  Sam. 
"  Lero,  lero,  I  'd  like  to  hear  O,  I  'd  like  to  hear,' 

Says  old  Uncle  Sam, 
"  Lero,  lero,  fillibustero.  I  'd  like  to  hear," 

Says  old  Uncle  Sam. 

91 


92  ©vertures  from  IRicbmonD 

"  First,  you  must  own  I  've  beat  you  in  fight," 

Lillibulero,  old  Uncle  Sam, 
"  Then,  that  I  always  have  been  in  the  right," 

Lillibulero,  old  Uncle  Sam. 
"  Uero,  lero,  rather  severe  O,  rather  severe," 

Says  old  Uncle  Sam, 
"  Lero,  lero,  fillibustero,  rather  severe," 

Says  old  Uncle  Sam. 


"  Then  you  must  pay  my  national  debts," 

Lillibulero,  old  Uncle  Sam, 
"  No  questions  asked  about  my  assets," 

Lillibulero,  old  Uncle  Sam. 
"  Lero,  lero,  that  's  very  dear  O,  that 's  very  dear, 

Says  old  Uncle  Sam, 
"  Lero,  lero,  fillibustero,  that  's  very  dear," 

Says  old  Uncle  Sam. 


Also,  some  few  L  O.  U.'s  and  bets," 

Lillibulero,  old  Uncle  Sam, 
Mine  and  Bob  Toombs's  and  Slidell's  and  Rhett's," 

Lillibulero,  old  Uncle  Sam. 
Lero,  lero,  that  leaves  me  zero,  that  leaves  me  zero. 

Says  old  Uncle  Sam, 
Lero,  lero,  fillibustero,  that  leaves  me  zero," 

Says  old  Uncle  Sam. 


Overtures  from  IRicbmonO  93 


And,  by  the  way,  one  little  thing  more," 

Lillibulero,  old  Uncle  Sam, 
You  're  to  refund  the  cost  of  the  war," 

Lillibulero,  old  Uncle  Sam. 
lycro,  lero,  just  what  I  fear  O,  just  what  I  fear," 

Says  old  Uncle  Sam, 
Ivcro,  lero,  fiUibustero,  just  what  T  fear," 

Says  old  Uncle  Sam. 


"  Next,  you  must  own  our  cavalier  blood  !  " 

Ivillibulero,  old  Uncle  Sam, 
"  And  that  your  Puritans  sprang  from  the  mud  !  " 

Lillibulero,  old  Uncle  Sam. 
"  Ivcro,  lero,  that  mud  is  clear  O,  that  mud  is  clear," 

Says  old  Uncle  Sam, 
"  Lero,  lero,  fiUibustero,  that  mud  is  clear," 

Says  old  Uncle  Sam. 


**  Slavery  's  of  course  the  chief  corner-stone," 

Lillibulero,  old  Uncle  Sam, 
"  Of  our  NEW  CIV-IL-I-ZA-TION  !  " 

Lillibulero,  old  Uncle  Sam. 
"  Lero,  lero,  that 's  quite  sincere  O,  that 's  quite  sincere," 

Says  old  Uncle  Sam, 
"  Lero,  lero,  fiUibustero,  that  's  quite  sincere," 

Says  old  Uncle  Sam. 


94 


©vcrturcs  from  "Kicbmon^ 


"You  '11  understand,  my  recreant  tool," 

Lillibulero,  old  Uncle  Sam, 
"  You  're  to  submit,  and  we  are  to  rule," 

Lillibulero,  old  Uncle  Sam. 
"  Lero,  lero,  are  n't  you  a  hero  !  are  n't  you  a  hero  ! 

Says  old  Uncle  Sam, 
"  Lero,  lero,  fillibustero,  are  n't  you  a  hero  !  " 

Says  old  Uncle  Sam. 


"  If  to  these  terms  you  fully  consent," 

Lillibulero,  old  L^'ncle  Sam, 
"  I  '11  be  perpetual  King-President," 

Lillibulero,  old  L'ncle  vSam. 
"  Lero,  lero,  take  your  sombrero,  off  to  your  swamps 

Says  old  Uncle  Sam, 
*'Lero,  lero,  fillibustero,  cut,  double-quick  !  " 

Says  old  Uncle  Sam. 


/  / 


/''f 


BARBARA  FRIETCHIR. 
By 
GREENLEAF  WHITTIER. 


from  the  meadows  rich 
ith  corn, 
Clear  in  the  cool   September 
morn, 


The  cluster'd  spires  of  Frederick  stand 
Green-wall'd  by  the  hills  of  Maryland. 

Round  about  them  orchards  sweep, 
Apple-  and  peach-trees  fruited  deep. 

Fair  as  the  garden  of  the  Lord 

To  the  eyes  of  the  famish'd  rebel  horde, 

On  that  pleasant  morn  of  the  early  fall, 
When  Lee  march' d  over  the  mountain-wallj 

95 


0  ^Barbara  Jfrletcbie 


Over  the  mountains  winding  down, 
Horse  and  foot,  into  Frederick  town. 

Forty  flags  with  their  silver  stars, 
Forty  flags  with  their  crimson  bars, 

Flapp'd  in  the  morning  wind  :  the  sun 
Of  noon  look'd  down,  and  saw  not  one. 

Up  rose  old  Barbara  Frietchie  then, 
Bow'd  with  her  fourscore  years  and  ten  ; 

Bravest  of  all  in  Frederick  town. 

She  took  up  the  flag  the  men  haul'd  down  ; 

In  her  attic  window  the  staff"  she  set, 
To  show  that  one  heart  was  loyal  yet. 

Up  the  street  came  the  rebel  tread, 
Stonewall  Jackson  riding  ahead. 

Under  his  slouch'd  hat  left  and  right 
He  glanced  :  the  old  flag  met  his  sight. 

"  Halt  !  " — the  dust-brown  ranks  Ftood  fast 
"  Fire  !  "—out  blazed  the  rifle  blast. 

It  shiver' d  the  window,  pane  and  sash  ; 
It  rent  the  banner  with  seam  and  gash. 


^Barbara  3fnctcbie  97 

Quick,  as  it  fell  from  the  broken  staff, 
Dame  Barbara  suatch'd  the  silken  scarf. 

She  lean'd  far  out  on  the  window-sill. 
And  shook  it  forth  with  a  royal  will. 

"  Shoot,  if  you  muse,  this  old  gray  head, 
But  spare  your  country's  flag,"  she  said. 

A  shade  of  sadness,  a  blush  of  shame 
Over  the  face  of  the  leader  came. 

The  nobler  nature  within  him  stirr'd 
To  life  at  that  woman's  deed  and  word  : 

*'  Who  touches  a  hair  of  yon  gray  head 
Dies  like  a  dog  !     March  on  !  "  he  said. 

All  day  long  through  Frederick  street 
Sounded  the  tread  of  marching  feet : 

All  day  long  that  free  flag  tost 
Over  the  heads  of  the  rebel  host. 

Ever  its  torn  folds  rose  and  fell 

On  the  loyal  winds  that  loved  it  well  ; 

And  through  the  hill-gaps  sunset  light 
Shone  over  it  with  a  warm  good-night. 
Vol.  II. 


q8  JBarbara  ifrictcbie 

Barbara  Frietchie's  work  is  o'er, 

And  the  rebel  rides  on  his  raids  no  more, 

Honor  to  her  !  and  let  a  tear 

Fall,  for  her  sake,  on  Stonewall's  bier. 

Over  Barbara  Frietchie's  grave,     * 
Flag  of  Freedom  and  Union,  wave  ! 

Peace  and  order  and  beauty  draw 
Round  thy  symbol  of  light  and  law  ; 

And  ever  the  stars  above  look  down 
On  thy  stars  below  in  Frederick  town  ! 


MUSIC  IN  CAMP. 

BY  JOHN  R.  THOMPSON. 

TWO  armies  covered  hill  and  plain, 
Where  Rappahannock's  waters 
Ran  deeply  crimsoned  with  the  stain 
Of  battle's  recent  slaughters. 

The  summer  clouds  lay  pitched  like  tents 

In  meads  of  heavenly  azure  ; 
And  each  dread  gun  of  the  elements 

Slept  in  its  high  embrasure. 

The  breeze  so  softly  blew,  it  made 

No  forest  leaf  to  quiver  ; 
And  the  smoke  of  the  random  cannonade 

Rolled  slowly  from  the  river. 

And  now  where  circling  hills  looked  down 

With  cannon  grimly  planted, 
O'er  listless  camp  and  silent  town 

The  golden  sunset  slanted. 

99 


^usic  in  Gamp 


When  on  the  fervid  air  there  came 
A  strain,  now  rich,  now  tender  ; 

The  music  seemed  itself  aflame 
With  day's  departing  splendor. 

A  Federal  band,  which  eve  and  morn 
Played  measures  brave  and  nimble, 

Had  just  struck  up  with  flute  and  horn 
And  lively  clash  of  cymbal. 

Down  flocked  the  soldiers  to  the  banks  ; 

Till,  margined  by  its  pebbles, 
One  wooded  shore  was  blue  with  "  Yanks," 

And  one  was  gray  with  "  Rebels." 

Then  all  was  still  ;  and  then  the  band, 
With  movement  light  and  tricksy, 

Made  stream  and  forest,  hill  and  strand. 
Reverberate  with  ' '  Dixie. ' ' 

The  conscious  stream,  with  burnished  glow, 

Went  proudly  o'er  its  pebbles, 
But  thrilled  throughout  its  deepest  flow 

With  yelling  of  the  Rebels. 

Again  a  pause  ;  and  then  again 

The  trumpet  pealed  sonorous, 
And  "  Yankee  Doodle  "  was  the  strain 

To  which  the  shore  gave  chorus. 


/Iftusic  In  Camp 


The  laughing  ripple  shoreward  flew 

To  kiss  the  shining  pebbles  ; 
Ivoud  shrieked  the  swarming  Boys  in  Blue 

Defiance  to  the  Rebels. 

And  yet  once  more  the  bugle  sang 

Above  the  stormy  riot ; 
No  shout  upon  the  evening  rang — 

There  reigned  a  holy  quiet. 

The  sad,  slow  stream,  its  noiseless  flood 
Poured  o'er  the  glistening  pebbles ; 

All  silent  now  the  Yankees  stood, 
All  silent  stood  the  Rebels. 

No  unresponsive  soul  had  hearu 

That  plaintive  note's  appealing. 
So  deeply  ''Home,  Sweet  Home  "  had  stirred 

The  hidden  founts  of  feeling. 

Or  Blue,  or  Gray,  the  soldier  sees, 

As  by  the  wand  of  fairy. 
The  cottage  'neath  the  live  oak  trees, 

The  cabin  by  the  prairie. 

Or  cold,  or  warm,  his  native  skies 

Bend  in  their  beauty  o'er  him ; 
Seen  through  the  tear-mist  in  his  eyes, 

His  loved  ones  stand  before  him. 


/Ibuslc  in  Camp 


As  fades  the  iris  after  rain 
In  April's  tearful  weather, 

The  vision  vanished  as  the  strain 
And  daylight  died  together. 

But  Memory,  waked  by  Music's  art. 
Expressed  in  simple  numbers, 

Subdued  the  sternest  Yankee's  heart, 
Made  light  the  Rebel's  slumbers. 

And  fair  the  form  of  Music  shines — 
That  bright  celestial  creature — 

Who  still  'mid  War's  embattled  lines 
Gave  this  one  touch  of  Nature. 


[Southern.] 


FRKDBRICKSBURG. 

(December,  1862.) 
By  W.  F.  W. 

EIGHTEEN  hundred  and  sixty-two,— 
That  is  the  number  of  wounded  men 
Who,  if  the  telegraph's  tale  be  true. 

Reached  Washington  City  but  yestere'en. 

And  it  is  but  a  handful,  the  telegrams  add, 

To  those  who  are  coming  by  boats  and  by  cars. 

Weary  and  wounded,  dying  and  sad  ; 
Covered — but  only  in  front — with  scars. 
103 


104  3fre&cricF?6burg 


Some  are  wounded  by  Minie  shot, 
Others  are  torn  by  the  hissing  shell, 

As  it  burst  upon  them  as  fierce  and  as  hot 
As  a  demon  spawned  in  a  traitor's  hell. 

Some  are  pierced  by  the  sharp  bayonet, 
Others  are  crushed  by  the  horses'  hoof, 

Or  fell  'neath  the  shower  of  iron  which  met 
Them  as  hail  beats  down  on  an  open  roof. 

Shall  I  tell  what  they  did  to  meet  this  fate  ? 

Why  was  this  living  death  their  doom  ? 
Why  did  they  fall  to  this  piteous  state 

Neath  the  rifle's  crack  and  the  cannon's  boom  ? 

Orders  arrived,  and  the  river  they  crossed  ; 

Built  the  bridge  in  the  enemy's  face  ; 
No  matter  how  many  were  shot  and  lost, 

And  floated — sad  corpses — away  from  the  place. 

Orders  they  heard,  and  they  scaled  the  height, 
Climbing  right  "into  the  jaws  of  death  "  ; 

Each  man  grasping  his  rifle-piece  tight, 
Scarcely  pausing  to  draw  his  breath. 

Sudden  flashed  on  them  a  sheet  of  flame 
From  hidden  fence  and  from  ambuscade  ; 

A  moment  more — (they  say  this  is  fame) — 
A  thousand  dead  men  on  the  grass  were  laid. 


3frc&eric?i6bur^  105 


Fifteen  thousand  in  wounded  and  killed, 
At  least,  is  "  our  loss,"  the  newspapers  say. 

This  loss  to  our  army  must  surely  be  filled 
Against  another  great  battle  day. 

"  Our  loss  !  "    Whose  loss  ?    Let  demagogues  say 
That  the  Cabinet,  President,  all  are  in  wrong  : 

What  do  the  orphans  and  widows  pray  ? 
What  is  the  burden  of  their  sad  song? 

'T  is  their  loss  !  but  the  tears  in  their  weeping  eyes 
Hide  Cabinet,  President,  Generals, — all ; 

And  they  only  can  see  a  cold  form  that  lies 
On  the  hill-side  slope,  by  that  fatal  wall. 

They  cannot  discriminate  men  or  means, — 
They  only  demand  that  this  blundering  cease. 

In  their  frenzied  grief  they  would  end  such  scenes, 
Though  that  end  be — even  with  traitors — peace. 

Is  thy  face  from  thy  people  turned,  O  God  ? 
Is  thy  arm  for  the  nation  no  longer  strong  ? 

We  cry  from  our  homes — the  dead  cry  from  the  sod- 
How  long,  oh,  our  righteous  God  !  how  lon-g  ? 


•■a^^-O^l 


TREASON'S  LAST  DEVICE. 

By  EDMUND  CLARENCE  STEDMAN. 

[Certain  politicians  proposed,  as  a  means  of  ending  the 
war,  that  a  new  confederacy  or  union  should  be  formed, 
from  which  the  New  England  States  should  be  excluded 
because  of  their  implacable  hostility  to  slavery  and  their 
consequent  obnoxiousness  to  the  vSouth.  There  were 
many  spirited  replies  to  this  proposal,  the  l)est  of  which  is 
this  poem. — Editor.] 

"  Who  deserves  greatness 
Deserv^es  your  hate    .     .     . 

Yon  common  cry  of  curs,  whose  breath  I  loathe 
As  reek  o'  the  rotten  fens." 

CoHoIanns. 
"  Hark  !  hark  !  the  dogs  do  bark." 

Niirsery  Rhyme. 

SONS  of  New  England  in  the  fray, 
Do  you  hear  the  clamor  behind  your  back  ? 
Do  you  hear  the  yelping  of  Blanche  and  Tray  ? 

Sweetheart,  and  all  the  mongrel  pack  ? 
Girded  well  with  her  ocean  crags, 
Little  our  mother  heeds  their  noise  ; 
1 06 


G;rcason*s  last  Device  107 

Her  eyes  are  fixed  on  crimson  flags  : 
But  you — do  you  hear  it,  Yankee  boys  ? 

Do  you  hear  theni  say  that  the  patriot  fire 

Burns  on  her  altars  too  pure  and  bright, 
To  the  darkened  heavens  leaping  higher, 

Though  drenched  with  the  blood  of  every  fight  ? 
That  in  the  light  of  its  searching  flame 

Treason  and  tyrants  stand  revealed, 
And  the  yielding  craven  is  put  to  shame 

On  Capitol  floor  or  foughten  field  ? 

Do  you  hear  the  hissing  voice  which  saith 

That  she — who  bore  through  all  the  land 
The  lyre  of  Freedom,  the  torch  of  Faith, 

And  young  Invention's  mystic  wand — 
Should  gather  her  skirts  and  dwell  apart. 

With  not  one  of  her  sisters  to  share  her  fate, — 
A  Hagar,  wandering  sick  at  heart  ? 

A  pariah  bearing  the  nation's  hate  ? 

Sons,  who  have  peopled  the  gorgeous  West, 

And  planted  the  Pilgrim  arm  anew, 
Where  by  a  richer  soil  caressed, 

It  grows  as  ever  its  parent  grew, — 
Say,  do  you  hear — while  the  very  bells 

Of  your  churches  ring  with  her  ancient  voice. 
And  the  song  of  your  children  sweetly  tells 

How  true  was  the  land  of  your  fathers'  chcice— 


io8  ^rcason'e  Ua^t  5)erlcc 


Do  you  hear  the  traitors  who  bid  you  speak 

The  word  that  shall  sever  the  sacred  tie  ? 
And  ye  who  dwell  by  the  golden  peak, 

Has  the  subtle  whisper  glided  by  ? 
Has  it  crossed  the  inimeniorial  plains 

To  coasts  where  the  gray  Pacific  roars, 
And  the  Pilgrim  blood  in  the  people's  veins 

Is  pure  as  the  wealth  of  their  mountain  ores? 

Spirits  of  sons  who  side  by  side 

In  a  hundred  battles  fought  and  fell, 
Whom  now  no  East  and  West  divide, 

In  the  isles  where  the  shades  of  heroes  dwell,— 
Say,  has  it  reached  your  glorious  rest. 

And  ruffled  the  calm  which  crowns  j'ou  there  ? 
The  shame  that  recreants  have  confest 

The  plot  that  floats  in  the  troubled  air  ? 

Sons  of  New  England,  here  and  there. 

Wherever  men  are  still  holding  by 
The  honor  our  fathers  left  so  fair, — 

Say,  do  you  hear  the  cowards'  cry  ? 
Crouching  amongst  her  grand  old  crags, 

Lightly  our  mother  heeds  their  noise, 
With  her  fond  eyes  fixed  on  distant  flags  ; 

But  you — do  you  hear  it,  Yankee  boys  ? 

January  19,  1S63. 


IX  LOUISIANA 


iHi,-,y¥v 


By  J.  w.  Deforest. 


WITHOUT  a  hillock  stretched  the  plain 
For  months  we  had  not  seen  a  hill ; 
The  endless,  flat  vSavannahs  still 
Wearied  our  eyes  with  waving  cane. 


One  tangled  cane-field  lay  before 
The  ambush  of  the  cautious  foe  ; 
Behind  a  black  bayou,  with  low 

Reed-hidden,  niirv,  treacherous  shore  ; 


A  sullen  swamp  along  the  right, 
Where  alligators  slept  and  crawled. 
And  moss-robed  cypress  giants  sprawled 


109 


1fn  Xouisiana 


Quick,  angry  spite  of  musketry 

Proclaimed  our  skirmishers  at  work  ; 
We  saw  their  crouching  figures  lurk 

Through  thickets  firing  from  the  knee. 

Our  Parrotts  felt  the  distant  wood 

With  humming,  shrieking,  growling  shell 
When  suddenly  the  mouth  of  hell 

Gaped  fiercely  for  its  human  food. 

A  long  and  low  blue  roll  of  smoke 
Curled  up  a  hundred  yards  ahead. 
And  deadly  storms  of  driving  lead 

From  rifle-pits  and  cane-fields  broke. 

Then,  while  the  bullets  whistled  thick. 
And  hidden  batteries  boomed  and  shelled, 
"  Charge  bayonets  !  "  the  colonel  yelled  ; 

*'  Battalion  forward, — double  quick  !  " 

With  even  slopes  of  bayonets 

Advanced — a  dazzling,  threatening  crest- 
Right  toward  the  rebels'  hidden  nest, 

The  dark  blue,  living  billow  sets. 

The  color-guard  was  at  my  side  ; 

I  heard  the  color-sergeant  groan  ; 

I  heard  the  bullet  crush  the  bone  ; 
I  might  have  touched  him  as  he  died. 


■ffn  Xouislana 


The  life-blood  spouted  from  his  mouth 

And  sanctified  the  wicked  land  ; 

Of  martyred  saviors  what  a  band 
Has  suffered  to  redeem  the  South  ! 

I  had  no  malice  in  my  mind  ; 

I  only  cried  :  "  Close  up  !  guide  right  !  " 

My  single  purpose  in  the  fight 
Was  steady  march  with  eyes  aligned. 

I  glanced  along  the  martial  rows, 

And  marked  the  soldiers'  eyeballs  burn  ; 
Their  eager  faces  hot  and  stern, — 

The  wrathful  triumph  on  their  brows. 

The  traitors  saw  ;  they  reeled  and  fled  : 
Fear-stricken,  gray-clad  multitudes 
Streamed  wildly  toward  the  covering  woods. 

And  left  us  victory  and  their  dead. 

Once  more  the  march,  the  tiresome  plain, 
The  Father  River  fringed  with  dykes, 
Gray  cypresses,  palmetto  spikes. 

Bayous  and  swamps  and  yellowing  canes  ; 

With  here  and  there  plantations  rolled 
In  flowers,  bananas,  orange  groves. 
Where  laugh  the  sauntering  negro  droves, 

Reposing  from  the  task  of  old  ; 


112 


II  n  3Lom6iana 


And  rarer,  half-deserted  towns, 

Devoid  of  men,  where  women  scowl, 
Avoiding  us  as  lepers  foul 

With  sidling  gait  and  flouting  gowns. 


Thibodeaux,  La.,  March,  1863. 


JOHN  PElvHAM. 

By  JAMES  R.  RANDAI.I.. 

[lu  most  of  the  collections  this  poem  is  printed  under 
the  title  of  "The  Dead  Cannoneer,"  but  the  author 
assures  the  present  editor  that  the  only  title  he  evei 
gave  it  is  the  name  of  the  boy  general,  "John  Pelham," 
who  was  killed  at  Kelly's  Ford,  Virginia,  17th  March, 
1863.— Editor.] 


JUST  as  the  spring  came  laughing  through  the  strife, 
With  all  its  gorgeous  cheer, 
In  the  bright  April  of  historic  life, 

Fell  the  great  cannoneer. 
Vol.  II.  1 1 -J 


114  5obn  pelbam 


The  wondrous  lulling  of  a  hero's  breath 
His  bleeding  country  weeps  ; 

Hushed  in  the  alabaster  arms  of  Death, 
Our  young  Marcellus  sleeps. 

Nobler  and  grander  than  the  Child  of  Rome 
Curbing  his  chariot  steeds, 

The  knightly  scion  of  a  Southern  home 
Dazzled  the  land  with  deeds. 

Gentlest  and  bravest  in  the  battle-brunt, 
The  champion  of  the  truth, 

He  bore  his  banner  to  the  verj-  front 
Of  our  immortal  youth. 

A  clang  of  sabres  'mid  Virginian  snow, 
The  fiery  pang  of  shells, — 

And  there  's  a  wail  of  immemorial  woe 
In  Alabama  dells. 

The  pennon  drops  that  led  the  sacred  band 

Along  the  crimson  field  ; 
The  meteor  blade  sinks  from  the  nerveless  hand 

Over  the  spotless  shield. 

We  gazed  and  gazed  upon  that  beauteous  face  ; 

While  round  the  lips  and  eyes. 
Couched  in  their  marble  slumber,  flashed  the  grace 

Of  a  divine  surprise. 


5obn  ipelbam  115 


O  mother  of  a  blessed  soul  on  high  ! 

Thy  tears  may  soon  be  shed  ; 
Think  of  thy  boy  with  princes  of  the  sky, 

Among  the  Southern  dead  ! 

How  must  he  smile  on  this  dull  world  beneath, 
Fevered  with  swift  renown, — 

He,  with  the  martyr's  amaranthine  wreath 
Twining  the  victor's  crown  ! 


[Southern.  ] 


THE  BATTLE  OF  CIIARLESTOX  HARBOR. 

(IJombardmcnt  of  Fort  Sumter  by  the  fleet,  7th  April,  1S63.) 
By  PAUIv  H.  HAYNE. 


T 


I. 

'WO  hours,  or  more,  l)eyon(l  the  prime  of  a  blithe 
April  (lay. 
The  Northmen's  mailed  "  Invincibles  "  steamed  up  fair 

Charleston  Bay  ; 
They  came  in  sullen  file  and  slow,  low-l)reasted  on  the 

wave, 
Black  as  a  midnight  front  of  storm,  and  silent  as  the 
grave. 

II. 
A  thousand  warrior-hearts  beat  high  as  those  dread  mon- 
sters drew 
More  closely  to  the  game  of  death  across  the  breezeless 

blue. 
And  twice  ten  thousand  hearts  of  those  who  watched  the 

scene  afar, 
Thrill  in  the  awful  hush  that  bides  the  battle's  broaden- 
ing star. 

116 


^be  Ji5attle  ot  Cbarleston  Ibarbor         n? 

III. 

Racli  gunner,   moveless  by  his  gun,   with  rigid   aspect 

stands, 
rhe  ready  lanyards  firmly  grasped  in  bold,  untrembling 

hands, 
■>o  moveless  in  their  marbled  calm,  their  stern  heroic 

guise, 
riiey  looked  like  forms  of  statued  stone  with  burning 

human  eyes  ! 

IV. 

Our  banners  on  the  outmost  walls,  with  stately  rustling 
fold, 

Flash  back  from  arch  and  parapet  the  sunlight's  ruddy 
gold,— 

rhey  mount  to  the  deep  roll  of  drums,  and  widely  echo- 
ing cheers, 

And  then — once  more,  dark,  breathless,  hushed,  wait  the 
grim  cannoneers. 

V. 
Onward — in  sullen   file  and  slow,  low  glooming  on  the 

wave. 
Near,  nearer  still,  the  haughty  fleet  glides  silent  as  the 

grave, 
When  sudden,  shivering  up  the  calm,  o'er  startled  flood 

and  shore, 
Burst  from  the  sacred  Island  Fort  the  thunder-wrath  of 

yore  ! 


iis  ^bc  JSattIc  of  Gbarleston  "barber 

VI. 

Ha  !  brutal  Corsairs  I  though  ye  come  thrice-cased  in  iron 

mail, 
Beware  the  storm  that  's  opening  now,  God's  vengeance 

guides  the  hail  ! 
Ye  strive,  the  ruffian  t^-pes  of  Might,   'gainst  law  and 

truth  and  Right  ; 
Now  quail  beneath  a  sturdier  Power,  and  own  a  mightier 

Might  ! 

VII. 

No   empty   boast  !  for   while   we   speak,    more   furious, 

wilder,  higher. 
Dart  from  the  circling  batteries  a  hundred  tongues  of 

fire  ; 
The  waves  gleam  red,  the  lurid  vault  of  heaven  seems 

rent  above  ; 
Fight  on,  O  knightly  gentlemen  !  for  faith  and  home  and 

love  ! 

VIII. 

There 's  not  in  all  that  line  of  flame,  one  soul  that  would 

not  rise 
To  seize  the  victor's  wreath  of  blood,  though  death  must 

give  the  prize — 
There  's  not  in  all  this  anxious  crowd  that  throngs  the 

ancient  town 
A  maid  who  does  not  yearn  for  power  to  strike  one  despot 

down. 


a:be  JBattle  of  Cbarlcaton  Ibarbor         119 

IX. 

The  strife  grows  fiercer  !  ship  by  ship  the  proud  armada 
sweeps, 

Where  hot  from  Sumter's  raging  breast  the  volleyed 
lightning  leaps  ; 

And  ship  by  ship,  raked,  overborne,  ere  burned  the  sun- 
set light, 

Crawls  in  the  gloom  of  baffled  hate  beyond  the  field  of 
fight! 

X. 

O  glorious  Empress  of  the  Main  !  from  out  thy  storied 

spires 
Thou  well  mayst  peal  thy  bells  of  joy,  and  light  thy  festal 

fires, — 
Since  Heaven  this  day  hath  striven  for  thee,  hath  nerv^ed 

thy  dauntless  sons, 
And  thou  in  clear-eyed  faith  hast  seen  God's  angels  near 

the  guns ! 

[Southern.] 


RUNNING  THE  BATTERIES. 

(As  obser\'ed  from  the  anchorage  above  Vicksburg,  April,  1863.) 
By    HKRMAN   MEI^VIIvLE. 


A  MOONLESS  night— a  friendh-  one  ; 
A  haze  dimmed  the  shadowy  shore 
As  the  first  lampless  boat  slid  silent  on  ; 

Hist !  and  we  spake  no  more  ; 
We  but  pointed,  and  stilly,  to  what  we  saw. 
120 


IRunninc;  tbe  :©atterie6 


We  felt  the  dew,  and  seemed  to  feel 

Ttie  secret  like  a  burden  laid. 
The  first  boat  melts  ;  and  a  second  keel 

Is  blent  with  the  foliaged  shade — 
Their  midnight  rounds  have  the  rebel  officers  made  ? 

Unspied  as  yet.     A  third — a  fourth — 

Gunboat  and  transport  in  Indian  file 
Upon  the  war-path,  smooth  from  the  North  ; 

But  the  watch  may  they  hope  to  beguile  ? 
The  manned  river-batteries  stretch  far  mile  on  mile. 

A  flame  leaps  out  ;  they  are  seen  ; 

Another  and  another  gun  roars ; 
We  tell  the  course  of  the  boats  through  the  screen 

By  each  further  fort  that  pours, 
And  we  guess  how  they  jump  from  their  beds  on  those 
shrouded  shores. 

Converging  fires.     We  speak,  though  low  : 
"  That  blastful  furnace  can  they  thread?  " 

"Why,  Shadrach,  Meshach,  and  Abednego 
Came  out  all  right,  we  read  ; 

The  Lord,  be  sure,  he  helps  his  people,  Ned." 

How  we  strain  our  gaze.     On  bluffs  they  shun 

A  golden  growing  flame  appears — 
Confirms  to  a  silvery  steadfast  one  : 

"The  town  is  afire  !  "  crows  Hugh  ;   "  three  cheers  !  " 
Lot  stops  his  mouth  :  "  Nay,  lad,  better  three  tears." 


122  "Kunnina  tbc  JBattcrlcs 

A  purposed  light ;  it  shows  our  fleet ; 

Yet  a  little  late  in  its  searching  ray, 
So  far  and  strong,  that  in  phantom  cheat 

Lank  on  the  deck  our  shadows  lay  ; 
The  shining  flag-ship  stings  their  guns  to  furious  frtay. 

How  dread  to  mark  her  near  the  glare 
And  glade  of  death  the  beacon  throws 

Athwart  the  racing  waters  there  ; 
One  by  one  each  plainer  grows, 

Then  speeds  a  blazoned  target  to  our  gladdened  foes. 

The  impartial  cresset  lights  as  well 
The  fixed  forts  to  the  boats  that  run  ; 

And,  plunged  from  the  ports,  their  answers  swell 
Back  to  each  fortress  dun  : 

Ponderous  words  speaks  ever\'  monster  gun. 

Fearless  they  flash  through  gates  of  flame, 

The  salamanders  hard  to  hit, 
Though  vivid  shows  each  bulky  frame  ; 

And  never  the  batteries  intermit. 
Nor  the  boat's  huge  guns  ;  they  fire  and  flit. 

Anon  a  lull.     The  beacon  dies. 

"  Are  they  out  of  that  strait  accurst  ?  " 
But  other  flames  now  dawning  rise, 

Not  mellowly  brilliant  like  the  first, 
But  rolled  in  smoke,  whose  whitish  volumes  burst. 


IRunnina  tbe  :©atterie6  123 

A  baleful  brand,  a  hurrying  torch 
Whereby  anew  the  boats  are  seen — 

A  burning  transport  all  alurch  ! 

Breathless  we  gaze  ;  yet  still  we  glean 

Glimpses  of  beauty  as  we  eager  lean. 

The  effulgence  takes  an  amber  glow 
Which  bathes  the  hillside  villas  far ; 

Affrighted  ladies  mark  the  show 
Painting  the  pale  magnolia — 

The  fair,  false,  Circe  light  of  cruel  War, 

The  barge  drifts  doomed,  a  plague-struck  one, 

Shoreward  in  yawls  the  sailors  fly. 
But  the  gauntlet  now  is  nearly  run. 

The  spleenful  forts  by  fits  reply, 
And  the  burning  boat  dies  down  in  morning's  sky. 

All  out  of  range.     Adieu,  Messieurs  ! 

Jeers,  as  it  speeds,  our  parting  gun. 
So  burst  we  through  their  barriers 

And  menaces  every  one  ; 
So  Porter  proves  himself  a  brave  man's  son. 


By  GEORGE  PARSONS  I.ATHROP. 

BY  the  shrouded  gleam  of  the  westeru  skies, 
Brave  Keenan  looked  in  Pleasanton's  eyes 
For  an  instant — clear,  and  cool,  and  still ; 
Then,  with  a  smile,  he  said  :  "  I  will." 


124 


IRcenan's  Cbarac  125 


"  Cavalry,  charge  !  "     Not  a  man  of  them  shrank  ; 

Their  sharp,  full  cheer,  from  rank  on  rank, 

Rose  joyously,  with  a  willing  breath — 

Rose  like  a  greeting  hail  to  death. 

Then  forward  they  sprang,  and  spurred,  and  clashed  ; 

Shouted  the  officers,  crimson-sashed  ; 

Rode  well  the  men,  each  brave  as  his  fellow, 

In  their  faded  coats  of  the  blue  and  yellow  ; 

And  above  in  the  air,  with  an  instinct  true. 

Like  a  bird  of  war  their  pennon  flew. 

With  clank  of  scabbards  and  thunder  of  steeds, 
And  blades  that  shine  like  sunlit  reeds. 
And  strong  brown  faces  bravely  pale, 
For  fear  their  proud  attempt  shall  fail. 
Three  hundred  Pennsylvanians  close 
On  twice  ten  thousand  gallant  foes. 

Line  after  line  the  troopers  came 

To  the  edge  of  the  wood  that  was  ring'd  with  flame  ; 

Rode  in  and  sabred  and  shot — and  fell  : 

Nor  came  one  back  his  wounds  to  tell. 

And  full  in  the  midst  rose  Keenan,  tall 

In  the  gloom,  like  a  martyr  awaiting  his  fall. 

While  the  circle-stroke  of  his  sabre,  swung 

'Round  his  head,  like  a  halo  there,  luminous  hung. 

Line  after  line,  ay,  whole  platoons. 

Struck  dead  in  their  saddles,  of  brave  dragoons 


126  f^ccnan's  Cbargc 

By  the  maddened  horses  were  onward  borne 

And  into  the  vortex  flung,  trampled  and  torn  ; 
As  Keenan  fought  with  his  men,  side  by  side. 

So  they  rode,  till  there  were  no  more  to  ride. 

But  over  them  lying  there,  shattered  and  nmte. 

What  deep  echo  rolls  ?     'T  is  a  death  salute 

From  the  cannon  in  place  ;   for,  heroes,  you  brave<l 

Your  fate  not  in  vain  :  the  army  was  saved  ! 

Over  them  now — year  following  year — 

Over  their  graves  the  pine-cones  fall. 

And  the  whippoorwill  chants  his  spectre-call  ; 

But  they  stir  not  again  ;  they  raise  no  cheer  : 

They  have  ceased.  But  their  glory  shall  never  cease, 

Nor  their  light  be  quenched  in  the  light  of  peace. 

The  rush  of  their  charge  is  resounding  still, 

That  saved  the  army  at  Chancellorsville. 


DEATH  OF  STONEWALL  JACKSON. 

By  harry  I^.  FI,ASH. 

NOT  'mid  the  lightning  of  t!ie  stormy  fight, 
Not  in  the  rush  upon  the  vandal  foe, 
Did  kingly  Death,  with  his  resistless  might, 
Lay  the  great  leader  low. 

His  warrior  soul  its  earthly  shackles  broke 
In  the  full  sunshine  of  a  peaceful  town  ; 

When  all  the  storm  was  hushed,  the  trusty  oak 
That  propped  our  cause  went  down. 

Though  his  alone  the  blood  that  flecks  the  ground, 
Recording  all  his  grand,  heroic  deeds, 

Freedom  herself  is  writhing  with  the  wound, 
And  all  the  country  bleeds. 

He  entered  not  the  Nation's  Promised  Land 
At  the  red  belching  of  the  cannon's  mouth  ; 

But  broke  the  House  of  Bondage  with  his  hand — 
The  Moses  of  the  South  ! 
127 


128 


Zbc  5)catb  ot  Stonewall  5ack5on 


O  gracious  God  !  not  gainless  is  the  loss  : 
A  glorious  sunbeam  gilds  thy  sternest  frown 

And  while  his  country  staggers  with  the  Cross, 
He  rises  with  the  Crown. 


[Southern.] 


UNDER  THE  SHADE  OF  THE  TREES. 

By  MARGARET  J.  PRESTON. 

[The  last  words  of  Stonewall  Jackson  were  :  "  Let  us 
cross  the  river  and  rest  under  the  shade  of  the  trees." 
— Editor.] 

WHAT  are  the  thoughts  that  are  stirring  his  breast ? 
What  is  the  mystical  vision  he  sees  ? 
—  "  Let  us  pass  over  the  river,  and  rest 
Under  the  shade  of  the  trees." 


Has  he  grown  sick  of  his  toils  and  his  tasks  ? 

Sighs  the  worn  spirit  for  respite  or  ease  ? 
Is  it  a  moment's  cool  halt  that  he  asks 

Under  the  shade  of  the  trees  ? 


Is  it  the  gurgle  of  waters  whose  flow 

Ofttime  has  come  to  him,  borne  on  the  breeze, 

Memory  listens  to,  lapsing  so  low, 
Under  the  shade  of  the  trees  ? 
Vol.  11.  129 


130  innDcr  tbe  SbaDc  of  tbe  Tlvcc6 


Nay — though  the  rasp  of  the  flesh  was  so  sore, 
Faith,  that  had  yearnings  far  keener  than  these, 

Saw  the  soft  sheen  of  the  Thitherward  Shore 
Under  the  shade  of  the  trees  ; — 

Caught  the  high  psalms  of  ecstatic  delight — 

Heard  the  harps  harping,  like  soundings  of  seas — 

Watched  earth's  assoiled  ones  walking  in  white 
Under  the  shade  of  the  trees. 

Oh,  was  it  strange  he  should  pine  for  release, 

Touched  to  the  soul  with  such  transports  as  these. 

He  who  so  needed  the  balsam  of  peace, 
Under  the  shade  of  the  trees  ? 

Yea,  it  was  noblest  for  him — it  was  best 

(Questioning  naught  of  our  Father's  decrees), 

There  to  pass  over  the  river  and  rest 
Under  the  shade  of  the  trees  ! 

[Southern.] 


STONEWALIv  JACKSON. 

(Mortally  wounded  at  Chancellorsville,  Maj',  1863.) 
By  HERMAN  MKI.VII.I.E. 

THE  Man  who  fiercest  charged  in  fight, 
Whose  sword  and  prayer  were  long — 
Stonewall ! 
Even  him  who  stoutly  stood  for  Wrong, 
How  can  we  praise  ?    Yet  coming  days 
Shall  not  forget  him  with  this  song. 

Dead  is  the  Man  whose  Cause  is  dead, 
Vainly  he  died  and  set  his  seal — 

Stonewall ! 
Earnest  in  error,  as  we  feel ; 

True  to  the  thing  he  deemed  was  due, 
True  as  John  Brown  or  steel. 


Relentlessly  he  routed  us  ; 
But  we  relent,  for  he  is  low — 

Stonewall  ! 
Justly  his  fame  we  outlaw  ;  so 
We  drop  a  tear  on  the  bold  Virginia's  bier, 
Because  no  wreath  we  owe. 
131 


r'  jt >*>  >.      /  M^^  ,^~^  ^!V« 


By  GEORGE  H.  BOKER. 

DARK  as  the  clouds  of  even, 
Ranked  in  the  western  heaven, 
Waiting  the  l)reath  thatlifts 
All  the  dead  mass,  and  drifts 
Tempest  and  falling  brand 
Over  a  ruined  land, — 
So  still  and  orderly, 
Arm  to  arm,  knee  to  kee. 
Waiting  the  great  event, 
Stands  the  black  regiment. 


Down  the  long  dusky  line 
Teeth  gleam  and  eyeballs  shine  , 
And  the  bright  bayonet, 
Bristling  and  firmly  set, 

132 


^be  JBlach  TRegiment  133 

Flashed  with  a  purpose  graud, 
Ivoug  ere  the  sharp  coinmand 
Of  the  fierce  rolling  drum 
Told  them  their  time  had  come, 
Told  them  what  work  was  sent 
For  the  black  regiment. 

"  Now,"  the  flag-sergeant  cried, 
"Though  death  and  and  hell  betide, 
Let  the  whole  nation  see 
If  we  are  fit  to  be 
Free  in  this  land  ;  or  bound 
Down,  like  the  whining  hound, — 
Bound  with  red  stripes  of  pain 
In  our  cold  chains  again  !  " 
Oh,  what  a  shout  there  went 
From  the  black  regiment ! 

"Charge  !  "  trump  and  drum  awoke  ; 
Onward  the  bondsmen  broke  ; 
Bayonet  and  sabre-stroke 
Vainly  opposed  their  rush. 
Through  the  \vild  battle's  crush. 
With  but  one  thought  aflusli, 
Driving  their  lords  like  cliafi". 
In  the  gun's  mouth  they  laugh  ; 
Or  at  the  slippery  brands, 
Leaping  with  open  hands. 


134  XLbc  Muck  IRegiment 


Down  they  tear  man  and  horse, 
Down  in  their  awful  course  ; 
Trampling  with  bloody  heel 
Over  the  crushing  steel, — 
All  their  eyes  forward  bent, 
Rushed  the  black  regiment. 

"  Freedom  !  "  their  battle-cry, — 
"  Freedom  !  or  leave  to  die  !  " 
Ah  !  and  they  meant  the  word, 
Not  as  with  us  't  is  heard. 
Not  a  mere  party  shout ; 
They  gave  their  spirits  out, 
Trusted  the  end  to  God, 
And  on  the  gory  sod 
Rolled  in  triumphant  blood. 
Glad  to  strike  one  free  l)low. 
Whether  for  weal  or  woe  ; 
Glad  to  breathe  one  free  breath, 
Though  on  the  lips  of  death  ; 
Praying, — alas  !  in  vain  ! 
That  they  might  fall  again, 
So  they  could  once  more  see 
That  burst  to  liberty  ! 
This  was  what  "freedom  "  lent 
To  the  black  regiment. 

Hundreds  on  hundreds  fell ; 
But  they  are  resting  well ; 


trbe  JBlack  IRegiment 


135 


Scourges,  and  shackles  strong 
Never  shall  do  them  wrong. 
Oh,  to  the  living  few. 
Soldiers,  be  just  and  true  ! 
Hail  them  as  comrades  tried  ; 
Fight  with  them  side  by  side. 
Never,  in  field  or  tent. 
Scorn  the  black  regiment ! 


May  27,  1863. 


LITTLK  GIFFEN  OF  TENNESSEE. 

Hy  FRANCIS  O.  TICKNCJR. 

OUT  of  the  focal  and  foremost  fire, 
Out  of  the  hospital  walls  as  dire, 
Smitten  of  grape-shot  and  gangrene, 
(Eighteenth  battle,  and  he  sixteen  !) 
Spectre  such  as  %ve  seldom  see. 
Little  Gififen  of  Tennessee  ! 

"  Take  him — and  welcome  !  "  the  surgeon  said 
"  Much  your  doctor  can  help  the  dead  !  " 
And  so  we  took  him  and  brought  him  where 
The  balm  was  sweet  on  the  summer  air  ; 
And  we  laid  him  down  on  a  wholesome  bed — 
Utter  Lazarus,  heel  to  head  ! 

Weary  war  with  the  bated  breath, 
Skeleton  boy  against  skeleton  Death, 
Months  of  torture,  how  man}-  such  ! 
Weary  weeks  of  the  stick  and  crutch  ! 
Still  a  glint  in  the  steel-blue  eve 
Spoke  of  the  spirit  that  would  not  die, 
136 


Xittle  (Biffen  of  Zamceece  137 

And  did  n't  nay,  more  !  in  death's  despite 
The  crippled  skeleton  learned  to  write  ! 
"  Dear  mother,"  at  first,  of  course  ;  and  then, 
"  Dear  captain  " — inquirint^  al:)Out  "the  men." 
Captain's  answer — "  Of  eighty  and  five, 
Giffen  and  I  are  left  alive  !  " 

"Johnston  's  pressed  at  the  front,  they  say!  " 

Little  Giffen  was  up  and  away. 

A  tear,  his  first,  as  he  bade  good-by, 

Dimmed  the  glint  of  his  steel-blue  eye  ; 

"  I  '11  write,  if  spared."     There  was  news  of  a  fight, 

But  none  of  Giffen.     He  did  not  write  ! 

I  sometimes  fancy  that  were  I  king 

Of  the  princely  knights  of  the  Golden  Ring, 

With  the  song  of  the  minstrel  in  mine  ear, 

And  the  tender  legend  that  trembles  here, 

I  'd  give  the  best,  on  his  bended  knee. 

The  whitest  soul  of  my  chivalry. 

For  Little  Giffen  of  Tennessee  ! 

[Southern.] 


GETTYSBUr^G 


..:^ 


(July  I,  2,  3,  1S63.) 
By  EDMUND  CI,ARF,NCE  ST^DMAN. 

WAVE,  wave   your   glorious    battle- 
flags,  brave  soldiers  of  the  North, 
And  from  the  fields  your  arms  have 
won  to-day  go  proudly  forth  ! 
For  now,  O  comrades  dear  and  leal — from 
whom  no  ills  could  part, 
Through  the  long  years  of  hopes  and  fears,  the  nation's 

constant  heart — 
Men  who  have  driven  so  oft  the  foe,  so  oft  have  striven 

in  vain. 
Yet   ever  in   the  perilous   hour   have   crossed   his  path 
again,— 

13S 


(3cttS6burs  139 


At  last  we  have  our  heart's  desire,  from  them  we  met 

have  wrung 
A  victory  that  round  the  world  shall  long  be  told  and 

sung ! 
It  was  the  memory  of  the  past  that  bore  us  through  the 

fray, 
That  gave  the  grand  old  army  strength  to  conquer  on 

this  day  ! 


Oh,  now  forget  how  dark  and  red  Virginia's  rivers  flow, 
The   Rappahannock's   tangled  wilds,  the  glory  and   the 

woe  ; 
The   fever-hung  encampments,  where   our  dying  knew 

full  sore 
How  sweet  the  north-wind  to  the  cheek  it  soon  shall  cool 

no  more  ; 
The  fields  we  fought,  and  gained,  and  lost ;  the  lowland 

sun  and  rain 
That  wasted  us,  that  bleached  the  bones  of  our  unburied 

slain  ! 
There  was  no  lack  of  foes  to  meet,  of  deaths  to  die  no 

lack, 
And  all  the  hawks  of  heaven  learned  to  follow  on  our 

track  ; 
But  henceforth,  hovering  southward,   their  flight  shall 

mark  afar 
The  paths  of  yon  retreating  host  that  shun  the  northern 

star 


I40  ©ctt^eburg 


At  night  before  the  closing  fray,  when  all  the  front  was 

still, 

We  lay  in  bivouac  along  the  cannon-crested  hill. 

Ours  was  the  dauntless  Second  Corps  ;  and  many  a  sol- 
dier knew 

How  sped  the  fight,  and  sternly  thought  of  what  was  yet 
to  do. 

Guarding  the  centre  there,  we  lay,  and  talked  with  bated 
breath 

Of  Buford's  stand  beyond  the  town,  of  gallant  Reynolds' 
death, 

Of  cruel  retreats  through  pent-up  streets  by  murderous 
volleys  swept, — 

How  well  the  Stone,  the  Iron,  brigades  their  bloody  out- 
posts kept : 

'T  was  for  the  Union,  for  the  Flag,  they  perished,  heroes 
all. 

And  we  swore  to  conquer  in  the  end,  or  even  like  them 
to  fall. 


And  passed  from  mouth  to  mouth  the  tale  of  what  grim 
day  just  done, 

The  fight  by  Round  Top's  craggy  spur — of  all  the  deadli- 
est one  ; 

It  saved  the  left :  but  on  the  right  they  pressed  us  back 
too  well, 

And  like  a  field  in  spring  the  ground  was  ploughed  with 
shot  and  shell. 


(Sett^sburg  i4t 


There  was  the  ancient  graveyard,  its  hummocks  crushed 

and  red. 
And  there,  betweeen  them,  side  by  side,  the  wounded 

and  the  dead  : 
The   mangled  corpses  fallen    above — the  peaceful  dead 

below, 
Laid  in  their  graves,  to  slumber  here,  a  score  of  years 

ago  ; 
It  seemed  their  w^aking,  wandering  shades  were  asking 

of  our  slain. 
What  brought  such  hideous  tumult  now  where  they  so 

still  had  lain  ! 


Bright  rose  the  sun  of  Gettysburg  that  morrow  morning- 
tide, 
And  call  of  trump  and  roll  of  drum  from  height  to  height 

replied. 
Hark  !  from  the  east  already  goes  up  the  rattling  din  ; 
The  Twelfth  Corps,   winning  back  their  ground,  right 

well  the  day  begin  ! 
They  whirl  fierce  Ewell  from  their  front !  Now  w^e  of  the 

Second  pray. 
As  right  and  left  the  brunt  have  borne,  the  centre  might 

to-day. 
But  all  was  still  from  hill  to  hill  for  many  a  breathless 

hour, 
While  for  the  coming  battle-shock  Lee  gathered  in  his 

power ; 


142  ©ctt^sburg 


And  back  and  forth  our  leaders  rode,  who  knew  not  rest 

or  fear, 
And  along  the  lines,  where'er  they  came,   went  up  the 

ringing  cheer. 

'T  was  past  the  hour  of  nooning  ;  the  summer  skies  were 

blue  ; 
Behind  the  covering  timber  the  foe  was  hid  from  view  ; 
So  fair  and  sweet  with  waving  wheat  the  pleasant  valley 

lay, 
It  brought  to  mind  our  Northern  homes  and  meadows  far 

away ; 
When  the  whole  western  ridge  at  once  was  fringed  with 

fire  and  smoke. 
Against  our  lines   from   seven-score   guns   the  dreadful 

tempest  broke  ! 
Then  loud  our  batteries  answer,  and  far  along  the  crest. 
And  to   and   fro  the  roaring  bolts  are  driven   east  and 

west  ; 
Heavy  and  dark  around  us  glooms  the  stifling  sulphur- 
cloud, 
And  the  cries  of  mangled  men  and  horse  go  up  beneath 

its  shroud. 


The  guns  are  still  :  the  end  is  nigh  :  we  grasp  our  arms 

anew ; 
Oh,  now  let  every  heart  be   stanch  and   every  aim  be 

true ! 


©cttBsburg  143 


For  look !  from   yonder   wood  that   skirts   the   valley's 

further  marge, 
The  flower  of  all  the  Southern  host  move  to  the  final 

charge. 
By  heaven  !  it  is  a  fearful  sight  to  see  their  double  rank 
Come  with  a  hundred  battle-flags — a  mile  from  flank  to 

flank! 
Tramping  the  grain  to  earth,  they  come,  ten  thousand 

men  abreast ; 
Their  standards  wave — their  hearts  are  brave — they  hasten 

not,  nor  rest. 
But  close  the  gaps  our  cannon  make,  and  onward  press, 

and  nigher, 
And,  yelling  at  our  very  front,  again  pour  in  their  fire. 

Now  burst  our  sheeted  lightnings  forth,  now  all  our  wrath 
has  vent ! 

They  die,  they  wither  ;  through  and  through  their  waver- 
ing lines  are  rent. 

But  these  are  gallant,  desperate  men,  of  our  own  race  and 
land, 

Who  charge  anew,  and  welcome  death,  and  fight  us  hand 
to  hand  : 

Vain,  vain  !  give  way,  as  well  ye  may — the  crimson  die  is 
cast ! 

Their  bravest  leaders  bite  the  dust,  their  strength  is  fail- 
ing fast ; 

They  yield,  they  turn,  they  fly  the  field  :  we  smite  them 
as  they  run  ; 


144  0ettB6burcj 


Their  arms,  their  colors,  are  our  spoil ;  the  furious  fight 

is  done  ! 
Across  the  plain  we  follow  far  and  backward  push  the 

fray  : 
Cheer  !  cheer !  the  grand  old  Army  at  last  has  won  the 

day  ! 

Hurrah  !  the  day  has  won  the  cause  !     No  gray-clad  host 

henceforth 
Shall  come  with  fire  and  sword  to  tread  the  highways  of 

the  North  ! 
'T  was  such  a  flood  as  when  ye  see,  along  the  Atlantic 

shore, 
The  great  spring-tide  roll  grandly  in  with  swelling  surge 

and  roar : 
It  seems  no  wall  can  stay  its  leap  or  balk  its  wild  desire 
Beyond  the  bound  that  Heaven   hath   fixed  to  higher 

mount,  and  higher  ; 
But  now,  when  whitest  lifts  its  crest,  most  loud  its  billows 

call, 
Touched  by  the  Power  that  led  them  on,  the}-  fall,  and 

fall,  and  fall. 
Even  thus,  unstayed  upon  his  course,  to  Gettysburg  the 

foe 
His  legions  led,    and  fought,    and   fled,    and  might   no 

further  go. 

Full  many  a  dark-eyed   Southern   girl   shall    weep  her 
lover  dead  ; 


(Bctt^sbura  145 


But  with  a  price  the  fight  was  ours — we  too  have  tears  to 

shed  ! 
The  bells  that  peal  our  triumph  forth  anon  shall  toll  the 

brave, 
Above  whose  heads  the  cross  must  stand,  the  hill-side 

grasses  wave  ! 
Aias  !  alas  !  the  trampled  grass  shall  thrive  another  year. 
The  blossoms  on  the  apple-boughs  with  each  new  spring 

appear, 
But  when  our  patriot-soldiers  fall.  Earth  gives  them  up 

to  God  ; 
Though  their  souls  rise  in  clearer  skies,  their  forms  are 

as  the  sod ; 
Only  their  names  and  deeds  are  ours — but,  for  a  century 

yet. 
The  dead   who   fell   at   Gettysburg   the   land   shall    not 

forget. 

God  send  us  peace !  and  w  here  for  aye  the  loved  and  lost 
recline 

Let  fall,  O   South,  }vur  leaves  of  palm — O  North,  your 
sprigs  of  pine  ! 

But  when,  with  ever\'  ripened  year,  we  keep  the  harvest- 
home, 

And  to  the  dear  Thanksgiving-feast  our  sons  and  daugh- 
ters come — 

When  children's  children  throng  the  board  in  the  old 
homestead  spread. 
Vol.  II. 


140 


Oett^eburg 


And  the  laent  soldier  of  these  wars  is  seated  at  the  head, 
Long,  long  the  lads  shall  listen  to  hear  the  gray-beard 

tell 
Of  those   who   fought   at    Gettysburg    and   stood   their 

ground  so  well  : 
"  'T  was  for  the  Union  and  the  Flag,"  the  veteran  shall 

say, 
'Our  grand  old   Army  held   the   ridge,    and   won   that 

glorious  day  !  " 


AT  GETTYSBURG. 

LIKE  a  furnace  of  fire  blazed  the  midsummer  sun, 
When  to  saddle  we  leaped  at  the  order, 
Spurred  on  by  the  boom  of  the  deep-throated  gun 

That  told  of  the  foe  on  our  border. 
A  mist  in  our  rear  lay  Antietam's  dark  plain, 
And  thoughts  of  its  carnage  came  o'er  us  ; 
But  smiling  beyond  surged  the  fields  of  ripe  grain, 
And  we  swore  none  should  reap  it  before  us. 

That  night,  with  the  ensign  who  rode  by  my  side, 

On  the  camp's  dreary  edge  I  stood  picket. 
Our  ears  intent  lest  every  wind-rustle  hide 

A  foe's  stealthy  tread  in  the  thicket ; 
And  there,  while  we  watched  the  first  arrows  of  dawn 

Through  the  veil  of  the  rising  mists  quiver, 
He  told  how  the  foenian  had  closed  in  upon 

His  home  by  the  Tennessee  River. 

He  spoke  of  a  sire  in  his  weakness  cut  down. 
With  his  last  breath  the  traitor-flag  scorning  ; 

147 


t48  fit  Oettgsbura 


And  his  brow  with  the  memory  grew  dark  with  a  frowu 

That  paled  the  red  light  of  the  morning. 
For  days  he  had  followed  the  cowardly  b^nd  ; 

And,  when  one  lagged  to  forage  or  trifle, 
Had  seared  in  his  forehead  the  deep  Minie  brand, 

And  scored  a  fresh  notch  in  his  rifle. 

But  one  of  the  rangers  had  cheated  his  fate — 

For  him  he  would  search  the  world  over  : 
Such  cool-plotting  passion,  such  keenness  of  hate, 

Ne'er  saw  I  in  woman-scorned  lover. 
Oh,  who  would  have  thought  that  beneath  those  dark 
curls 

Lurked  vengeance  as  sure  as  death-rattle  ; 
Or  fancied  those  dreamy  eyes,  soft  as  a  girl's, 

Could  light  with  the  fury  of  battle  ? 

To  horse  !  pealed  the  bugle,  while  grape-shot  and  shell 

Overhead  through  the  forest  were  crashing  ; 
A  cheer  for  the  flag — and  the  summer  light  fell 

On  the  blades  from  a  thousand  sheaths  flashing. 
As  mad  ocean-waves  to  the  storm-revel  flock. 

So  on  we  dashed,  heedless  of  dangers  ; 
A  moment  our  long  line  surged  back  at  the  shock, 

Then  swept  through  the  ranks  of  the  Rangers. 

I  looked  for  the  ensign.     Ahead  of  his  troop. 
Pressing  on  through  the  conflict  infernal, 


Bt  (^cit^ebnv^  149 


His  torn  flag  furled  round  him  in  festoon  and  loop, 

He  spurred  to  the  side  of  his  colonel. 
And  his  clear  voice  rang  out,  as  I  saw  his  bright  sword 

Through  shako  and  gaudy  plume  shiver, 
With,  "  This  for  the  last  of  the  murderous  horde  !  " 

And,  "  This  for  the  home  by  the  river  !  " 

At  evening,  returned  from  pursuit  of  the  foe, 

By  a  shell-shattered  caisson  we  found  him  ; 
And  we  buried  him  there  in  the  sunset's  red  glow, 

With  the  dear  old  flag  knotted  around  him. 
Yet   how  could  we  mourn,  when  each  drum's  muffled 
strain 

Told  of  foemen  hurled  back  in  disorder, — 
When  we  knew  the  North  reaped  her  rich  harvest  of 
grain. 

Unharmed  by  a  foe  on  her  border  ! 


f;    JOHN  BURNS  OF 
GETTYvSBURG. 


■j!  I  V/ 


r'^wv-'W?'*'':  '''  By  BRET  HARTE. 

-5   J.,  V»'»'"'' 


[A  Union  officer  who  was  with  the  Eleventh  Corps  in 
the  battle  of  Gettysburc^  says  :  "During  the  first  day's 
fight,  an  old  man,  in  a  swallow-tailed  coat  and  battered 
cylinder  hat,  came  stalking  across  the  fields  from  the 
town,  and  made  his  appearance  at  Colonel  Stone's  posi- 
tion. With  a  musket  in  his  hand  and  ammunition  in  his 
pocket,  this  venerable  citizen  asked  Colonel  Wister's 
permission  to  fight.  Wister  directed  him  to  go  over  to 
the  Iron  Brigade,  where  he  would  be  sheltered  by  the 
woods  ;  but  the  old  man  insisted  on  going  forward  to  the 
skirmish  line.  He  was  allowed  to  do  so,  and  continued 
firing  until  the  skirmishers  retired,  when  he  was  the  last 
i=^o 


5obn  JBurns  of  (Bett^sburg  151 

man  to  leave.  He  afterwards  fought  with  the  Iron  Bri- 
gade, where  he  was  three  times  wounded.  This  patriotic 
and  heroic  citizen  was  Constable  John  Burns  of  Gettys- 
burg."— Author's  note.] 


HAVE  you  heard  the  story  that  gossips  tell 
Of  Burns  of  Gettysburg  ?     No  ?     Ah,  well 
Brief  is  the  glory  that  hero  earns, 
Briefer  the  story  of  poor  John  Burns  ; 
He  was  the  fellow  who  won  renown — 
The  only  man  who  did  n't  back  down 
When  the  rebels  rode  through  his  native  town  ; 
But  held  his  own  in  the  fight  next  da}-. 
When  all  his  townsfolk  ran  away. 
That  was  in  July,  sixty-three, — 
The  very  day  that  General  Lee, 
Flower  of  Southern  chivalry, 
Baffled  and  beaten,  backward  reeled 
From  a  stubborn  Meade  and  a  barren  field. 


I  might  tell  how,  but  the  day  before, 
John  Bums  stood  at  his  cottage-door. 
Looking  down  the  village  street. 
Where,  in  the  shade  of  his  peaceful  vine. 
He  heard  the  low  of  his  gathered  kine. 
And  felt  their  breath  with  incense  sweet 


152  5obn  JBurns  ot  Oettgsbur^ 

Or,  I  might  say,  when  the  sunset  burned 
The  old  fann  gable,  he  thought  it  turned 
The  milk  that  fell  like  a  babbling  flood 
Into  the  milk-pail,  red  as  blood  ; 
Or,  how  he  fancied  the  hum  of  bees 
Were  bullets  buzzing  among  the  trees. 
But  all  such  fanciful  thoughts  as  these 
Were  strange  to  a  practical  man  like  Burns, 
Who  minded  only  his  own  concerns, 
Troubled  no  more  by  fancies  fine 
Than  one  of  his  calm-eyed,  long-tailed  kine. 
Quite  old-fashioned  and  matter-of-fact, 
Slow  to  argue,  but  quick  to  act. 
That  was  the  reason,  as  some  folk  say. 
He  fought  so  wxll  on  that  terrible  day. 


And  it  was  terrible.     On  the  right 
Raged  for  hours  the  heady  fight. 
Thundered  the  battery's  double  bass — 
Difficult  music  for  men  to  face  ; 
While  on  the  left — where  now  the  graves 
Undulate  like  the  living  waves 
That  all  the  day  unceasing  swept 
Up  to  the  pits  the  rebels  kept — 
Round-shot  ploughed  the  upland  glades, 
Sown  with  bullets,  reaped  with  blades  ; 
Shattered  fences  here  and  there, 
Tossed  their  splinters  in  the  air  ; 


5obn  JSurns  of  (Bett^sbura  153 

The  very  trees  were  stripped  and  bare  ; 
The  barns  that  once  held  yellow  grain 
Were  heaped  with  harvests  of  the  slain  ; 
The  cattle  bellowed  on  the  plain, 
The  turkeys  screamed  with  might  and  main, 
And  brooding  barn-fowl  left  their  rest 
With  strange  shells  bursting  in  each  nest. 

Just  where  the  tide  of  battle  turns, 

Erect  and  lonely,  stood  old  John  Burns. 

How  do  you  think  the  man  was  dressed  1 

He  wore  an  ancient,  long  buff  vest, 

Yellow  as  saffron — but  his  best ; 

And  buttoned  over  his  manly  breast 

Was  a  bright-blue  coat  with  a  rolling  collar, 

And  large  gilt  buttons — size  of  a  dollar, — 

With  tails  that  the  country-folk  called  "  swaller." 

He  wore  a  broad-brimmed,  bell-crowned  hat. 

White  as  the  locks  on  which  it  sat. 

Never  had  such  a  sight  been  seen 

For  forty  years  on  the  village  green, 

Since  old  John  Burns  was  a  country  beau, 

And  went  to  the  "quiltings  "  long  ago. 

Close  at  his  elbows  all  that  day. 
Veterans  of  the  Peninsula, 
Sunburnt  and  bearded,  charged  away  ; 
And  striplings,  downy  of  lip  and  chin, — 


154  5obn  JBunig  of  Gctt^sbur^ 

Clerks  that  the  Home-Guard  mustered  in, — 
Glanced,  as  they  passed,  at  the  hat  he  wore, 
Then  at  the  rifle  his  right  hand  bore  ; 
And  hailed  him,  from  out  their  youthful  lore, 
With  scraps  of  a  slangy  repertoire  : 
"  How  are  you,  White  Hat  ?  "    "  Put  her  through  !  " 
"  Your  head  's  level  !  "  and  "  Bully  for  you  !  " 
Called  him  "  Daddy," — begged  he  'd  disclose 
The  name  of  the  tailor  who  made  his  clothes, 
And  what  was  the  value  he  set  on  those  ; 
While  Burns,  unmindful  of  jeer  and  scoff, 
Stood  there  picking  the  rebels  off" — 
With  his  long  brown  rifle,  and  bell-crowned  hat. 
And  the  swallow-tails  they  were  laughing  at. 

'T  was  but  a  moment,  for  that  respect 

Which  clothes  all  courage  their  voices  checked  ; 

And  something  the  wildest  could  understand 

Spake  in  the  old  man's  strong  right  hand. 

And  his  corded  throat,  and  the  lurking  frown 

Of  his  eyebrows  under  his  old  bell-crown  ; 

Until,  as  they  gazed,  there  crept  an  awe 

Through  the  ranks  in  whispers,  and  some  men  saw, 

In  the  antique  vestments  and  long  white  hair, 

The  Past  of  the  Nation  in  battle  there  ; 

And  some  of  the  soldiers  since  declare 

That  the  gleam  of  his  old  white  hat  afar. 

Like  the  crested  plume  of  the  brave  Navarre, 

That  day  was  their  oriflamme  of  war. 


John  JSurns  of  ©ettgsbura  ibs 

Thus  raged  the  battle.     You  know  the  rest  ; 

How  the  rebels,  beaten,  and  backward  pressed, 

Broke  at  the  final  charge  and  ran. 

At  which  John  Burns — a  practical  man — 

Shouldered  his  rifle,  unbent  his  brows. 

And  then  went  back  to  his  bees  and  cows. 

That  is  the  story  of  old  John  Burns  ; 

This  is  the  moral  the  reader  learns  : 

In  fighting  the  battle,  the  question  's  whether 

You  '11  show  a  hat  that  's  white,  or  a  feather. 


WOMAN'S  WAP   MISSION. 

FOLD  away  all  your  bright-tinted  dresses, 
Turn  the  key  on  your  jewels  to-day, 
And  the  wea'ih  of  your  tendril-like  tresses 

Braid  back,  in  a  serious  way  : 
No  more  delicate  gloves,  no  more  laces, 

No  more  trifling  in  boudoir  and  bower; 
But  come  with  your  souls  in  your  faces — 
To  meet  the  stern  needs  of  the  hour  ! 

Ivook  around  !     By  the  torchlight  unsteady, 

The  dead  and  the  dying  seem  one. 
What !  paling  and  trembling  already, 

Before  your  dear  mission  's  begun  ? 
These  wounds  are  more  precious  than  ghastly 

Fame  presses  her  lips  to  each  scar, 
As  she  chants  of  a  glory  which  vastly 

Transcends  all  the  horrors  of  war. 

Pause  here  by  this  bedside — how  mellow 
The  light  showers  down  on  that  brow  ! 

Such  a  brave,  brawny  \'isage  ! — Poor  fellow  ! 
Some  homestead  is  missing  him  now. 

156 


Moman'0  Mar  /IRission  157 


Some  wife  shades  her  eyes  in  the  clearing, 
vSonie  mother  sits  moaning,  distressed, — 

While  the  loved  one  lies  faint,  but  unfearing, 
With  the  enemy's  ball  in  his  breast. 

Here  's  another  :  a  lad — a  mere  stripling — 

Picked  up  from  the  field,  almost  dead  ; 
With  the  blood  through  his  sunny  hair  rippling 

From  a  horrible  gash  in  the  head. 
They  say  he  was  first  in  the  action, 

Gay-hearted,  quick-handed,  and  witty  ; 
He  fought  till  he  fell  with  exhaustion. 

At  the  gates  of  our  fair  Southern  city. 

Fought  and  fell  'neath  the  guns  of  that  city, 

With  a  spirit  transcending  his  years  ; 
Lift  him  up  in  your  large-hearted  pity, 

And  touch  his  pale  lips  with  your  tears. 
Touch  him  gently — most  sacred  the  duty 

Of  dressing  that  poor  shattered  hand  ! 
God  spare  him  to  rise  in  his  beauty. 

And  battle  once  more  for  the  land  ! 

Who  groaned  ?     What  a  passionate  murmur — 
"  In  thy  mercy,  O  God,  let  me  die  !  " 

Ha  !  surgeon,  your  hand  must  be  firmer. 
That  grape-shot  has  shattered  his  thigh. 

Fling  the  light  on  those  poor  furrowed  features, 
Gray-haired  and  unknown — bless  the  brother  ! 


58  '(mioman'0  TIClar  /ftiseion 

O  God  !  that  one  of  thy  creatures 

Should  e'er  work  such  woe  on  another  ! 

Wipe  the  sweat  from  his  brow  with  ^-our  kerchief 

Let  the  stain  tattered  collar  go  wide, 
See  !  he  stretches  out  blindly  to  search  if 

The  surgeon  still  stands  at  his  side. 
"  My  soft  's  over  yonder  !  he  '5  wounded — 

Oh  !  this  ball  that  has  broketi  my  thigh  !  " 
And  again  he  burst  out,  all  a-tremble, — 

"  In  thy  viercy,  O  God  /  let  me  die  !  " 

Pass  on  !     It  is  useless  to  linger 

While  others  are  claiming  your  care  ; 
There  is  need  of  your  delicate  finger, 

For  your  womanly  sympathy,  there  ! 
There  are  sick  ones  athirst  for  caressing — 

There  are  dying  ones  raving  for  home — 
There  are  wounds  to  be  bound  with  a  blessing- 

And  shrouds  to  make  ready  for  some. 

They  have  gathered  about  you  the  harvest 

Of  death,  in  its  ghastliest  view  ; 
The  nearest  as  well  as  the  farthest 

Is  here  with  the  traitor  and  true  ! 
And  crowned  with  your  beautiful  patience. 

Made  sunny  w^ith  love  at  the  heart, 
You  must  balsam  the  wounds  of  a  nation. 

Nor  falter,  nor  shrink  from  your  part  ! 


■Moman's  Mar  /IRission  159 

up  aud  down  through  the  wards,  where  the  fever 

Stalks  noisome,  and  gaunt  and  impure. 
You  must  go  with  your  steadfast  endeavor 

To  comfort,  to  counsel,  to  cure  ! 
I  grant  that  the  task  's  superhuman. 

But  strength  will  be  given  to  you 
To  do  for  these  dear  ones  what  woman 

Alone  in  her  pity  can  do. 

And  the  lips  of  the  mothers  will  bless  you 

As  angels  sweet  visaged  and  pale  ! 
And  the  little  ones  run  to  caress  you. 

While  the  wives  and  the  sisters  cry  "  Hail  !  " 
But  e'en  if  you  drop  down  unheeded. 

What  matter?     God's  ways  are  the  best  ; 
You  've  poured  out  your  life  where  't  was  needed, 

And  He  will  take  care  of  the  rest. 

[Southern.] 


THREE  HUNDRED  THOUSAND  MORE. 

WE  are  coming,  Father  Abraham,  three  hundred 
thousand  more. 

From  Mississippi's  winding  stream  and  from  New  Eng- 
land's shore  ; 

We  leave  our  ploughs  and  workshops,  our  wives  and 
children  dear. 

With  hearts  too  full  for  utterance,  with  but  a  silent  tear  ; 

We  dare  not  look  behind  us,  but  steadfastly  before  : 

We  are  coming,  Father  Abraham,  three  hundred  thousand 
more  ! 


If  you  look  across  the  hill-tops  that  meet  the  northern  sky, 

Long  moving  lines  of  rising  dust  your  vision  may  descry ; 

And  now  the  wind,  an  instant,  tears  the  cloudy  veil  aside, 

i6o 


^bree  IbunDreD  C^bousanD  /Bborc  i6i 


And  floats  aloft  our  spangled  flag  in  glory  and  in  pride, 
And  bayonets  in  the  sunlight  gleam,  and  bands  brave 

music  pour : 
We  are  coming,  Father  Abraham,  three  hundred  thousand 

more  ! 

If  you  look  all  up  our  valleys  where  the  growing  harvests 

shine, 
You  may  see  our  sturdy  farmer  boys  fast  forming  into  line  ; 
And  children  from  their  mother's  knees  are  pulling  at 

the  weeds. 
And  learning  how  to  reap  and  sow  against  their  country's 

needs  ; 
And  a  farewell  group  stands  weeping  at   every  cottage 

door  : 
We  are  coming,  Father  Abraham,  three  hundred  thousand 

more  ! 

You  have  called  us,  and  we  're  coming,  by  Richmond's 
bloody  tide 

To  lay  us  down,  for  Freedom's  sake,  our  brothers'  bones 
beside. 

Or  from  foul  treason's  savage  grasp  to  wrench  the  mur- 
derous blade, 

And  in  the  face  of  foreign  foes  its  fragments  to  parade. 

Six  hundred  thousand  loyal  men  and  true  have  gone 
before : 

We  are  coming,  Father  Abraham,  three  hundred  thousand 
more  ! 
Vol.  II. 


LEE  TO  THE   REAR. 

By  JOHN   R.  THOMPSON. 

[During  the  battles  in  the  Wilderness  at  the  beginning 
of  the  campaign  of  1864,  General  Robert  E.  Lee,  im- 
pressed with  the  desperate  necessity  of  carrying  a  certain 
peculiarly  difiicult  position,  seized  the  colors  of  a  Texas 
regiment  and  undertook  to  lead  the  perilous  assault  in 
person.  The  troops  and  their  colonel  remonstrated  with 
vehemence,  the  colonel,  in  his  men's  behalf,  pledging 
the  regiment  to  carry  the  position  if  General  Lee  would 
retire.  The  troops  advan^ced  to  the  charge  shouting 
"Lee  to  the  Rear!"  as  a  sort  of  battle  cry. — Editor.] 

DAWN  of  a  pleasant  morning  in  May 
Broke  through  the  Wilderness  cool  and  gray  ; 
While  perched  in  the  tallest  tree-tops,  the  birds 
Were  carolling  Mendelssohn's  "  Songs  without  Words." 

Far  from  the  haunts  of  men  remote, 
The  brook  brawled  ou  with  a  liquid  note  ; 
162 


%cc  to  tbe  IRear  163 


And  Nature,  all  tranquil  and  lovely,  wore 
The  smile  of  the  spring,  as  in  Eden  of  yore. 

Little  by  little,  as  daylight  increased. 
And  deepened  the  roseate  flush  in  the  East — 
Little  by  little  did  morning  reveal 
Two  long  glittering  lines  of  steel ; 

Where  two  hundred  thousand  bayonets  gleam, 
Tipped  with  the  light  of  the  earliest  beam, 
And  the  faces  are  sullen  and  grim  to  see 
In  the  hostile  armies  of  Grant  and  Lee. 

All  of  a  sudden,  ere  rose  the  sun, 
Pealed  on  the  silence  the  opening  gun — 
A  little  white  puff  of  smoke  there  came. 
And  anon  the  valley  was  wreathed  in  flame. 

Down  on  the  left  of  the  Rebel  lines, 

Where  a  breastwork  stands  in  a  copse  of  pines, 

Before  the  Rebels  their  ranks  can  form. 

The  Yankees  have  carried  the  place  by  storm. 

Stars  and  Stripes  on  the  salient  wave, 
Where  many  a  hero  has  found  a  grave, 
And  the  gallant  Confederates  strive  in  vain 
The  ground  they  have   drenched  with  their  blood, 
to  regain. 


i64  Xce  to  tbe  "Rear 

Yet  louder  the  thunder  of  Ijattle  roared — 
Yet  a  deadlier  fire  on  the  columns  poured  ; 
Slaughter  infernal  rode  with  Despair, 
Furies  twain,  through  the  murky  air. 

Not  far  off,  in  the  saddle  there  sat 

A  gray-bearded  man  in  a  black  slouched  hat ; 

Not  nmcli  moved  by  the  fire  was  he, 

Calm  and  resolute  Robert  Lee. 

Quick  and  watchful  he  kept  his  eye 
On  the  bold  Rebel  brigades  close  by, — 
Reserves  that  were  standing  (and  dying)  at  ease, 
While  the  tempest  of  wrath  toppled  over  the  trees. 

For  still  with  their  loud,  deep,  bull-dog  bay, 
The  Yankee  batteries  blazed  away. 
And  with  every  murderous  second  that  sped 
A  dozen  brave  fellows,  alas  !  fell  dead. 

The  grand  old  graybeard  rode  to  the  space 
Where  Death  and  his  victims  stood  face  to  face, 
And  silently  waved  his  old  slouched  hat — 
A  world  of  meaning  there  was  in  that  ! 

"  Follow  me  !     Steady  !     We  '11  save  the  day  !  " 
This  was  what  he  seemed  to  say  ; 
And  to  the  light  of  his  glorious  eye 
The  bold  brigades  thus  made  reply  : 


Xee  to  tbe  IRear  165 

"  We  '11  go  forward,  but  you  must  go  back  " — 
And  they  moved  not  an  inch  in  the  perilous  track  : 
"  Go  to  the  rear,  and  we  '11  send  them  to  hell  !  " 
And  the  sound  of  the  battle  was  lost  in  their  yell. 

Turning  his  bridle,  Robert  Lee 
Rode  to  the  rear.     Like  waves  of  the  sea, 
liursting  the  dikes  in  their  overflow. 
Madly  his  veterans  dashed  on  the  foe. 

And  backward  in  terror  that  foe  was  driven, 
Their  banners  rent  and  their  columns  riven, 
Wherever  the  tide  of  battle  rolled 
Over  the  Wilderness,  wood  and  wold. 

Sunset  out  of  a  crimson  sky 
Streamed  o'er  a  field  of  ruddier  dye, 
And  the  brook  ran  on  with  a  purple  stain. 
From  the  blood  of  ten  thousand  foemen  slain. 

Seasons  have  passed  since  that  day  and  year — 
Again  o'er  its  pebbles  the  brook  runs  clear, 
And  the  field  in  a  richer  green  is  drest 
Where  the  dead  of  a  terrible  conflict  rest. 

Hushed  is  the  roll  of  the  Rebel  drum, 

The  sabres  are  sheathed,  and  the  cannon  are  dumb  ; 

And  Fate,  with  his  pitiless  hand,  has  furled 

The  flag  that  once  challenged  the  gaze  of  the  world  ; 


i66 


Xcc  to  tbc  "Rear 


Bat  the  fame  of  the  Wihierness  fight  abides  ; 

And  down  into  history  grandly  rides, 

Calm  and  unmoved  as  in  battle  he  sat, 

The  gray-bearded  man  in  the  black  slouched  hat 

[Southern.] 


i^^^S^ 


.^fV^EARSARGE 
AND 
ALABAMA 


(Action  of  19  June,  1864.) 


IT  was  carU'  Sunday  morning,  in  the  year  of  sixty-four, 
The  Alabama  she  steam'd  out  along  the  Frenchman's 
shore. 

Long  time  she  cruised  about, 
Long  time  she  held  her  sway, 
But   now  beneath  the  Frenchman's  shore  she  lies  off 
Cherbourg  Bay. 

Hoist  up  the  flag,  and  long  may  it  wave 
Over  the  Union,  the  home  of  the  brave. 
Hoist  up  the  flag,  and  long  may  it  wave, 
God  bless  America,  the  home  of  the  brave ! 


The  Yankee  cruiser  hove  in  ^dew,  the  Kcarsarge  was  her 

name, 
It  ought  to  be  engraved  in  full  upon  the  scroll  of  fame  ; 
Her  timbers  made  of  Yankee  oak, 
And  her  crew  of  Yankee  tars, 
167 


i68  l^caraa^c  aiiD  Blabama 

And  o'er  her  niizzcn  peak  she  floats  the  j;jlorioiis  stripes 
and  stars. 

Hoist  up  the  flag,  and  long  may  it  wave 
Over  the  Union,  the  home  of  the  brave. 
Hoist  up  the  flag,  and  long  may  it  wave, 
God  bless  America,  the  home  of  the  Ijrave  ! 


A  challenge  unto  Captain  vSemmes,  bold  Winslow  he  did 
send  ! 

"  Bring  on  your  Alabama,  and  to  her  we  will  attend, 
For  we  think  your  boasting  privateer 
Is  not  so  hard  to  whip  ; 

And  we  '11  show  you  that  the  Kearsargc  is  not  a  merchant 
ship." 

Hoist  up  the  flag,  and  long  may  it  wave 
Over  the  Union,  the  home  of  the  brave. 
Hoist  up  the  flag,  and  long  may  it  wave, 
God  bless  America,  the  home  of  the  brave  ! 

It  was  early  Sunday  morning,  in  the  year  of  sixty-four, 
The  Alabama  she  stood  out  and  cannons  loud  did  roar  ; 
The  Kcarsarge  stood  undaunted,  and  quickly  she  replied 
And  let  a  Yankee  'leven-inch  shell  go  tearing  through 
her  side. 

Hoist  up  the  flag,  and  long  may  it  wave 
Over  the  Union,  the  home  of  the  brave. 
Hoist  up  the  flag,  and  long  may  it  wave, 
God  bless  America,  the  home  of  the  brave ! 


ffcarsacjc  anD  aiabama  169 

The  Kcarsai'ge  then  she  wore  around  and  broadside  on 

did  bear, 
With  shot  and  shell  and  right  good-will,  her  timbers  she 

did  tear  ; 
When  they  found  that  they  were  sinking,   down   came 

the  stars  and  bars, 
For  the  rebel  gunners  could  not  stand  the  glorious  stripes 
and  stars. 

Hoist  up  the  flag,  and  long  may  it  wave 
Over  the  Union,  the  home  of  the  brave ! 
Hoist  up  the  flag,  and  long  may  it  wave, 
God  bless  America,  the  home  of  the  brave ! 

The  Alabama  she  is  gone,  she  '11  cruise  the  seas  no  more, 
She  met  the  fate  she  well  deserved  along  the  French- 
man's shore ; 
Then  here  is  luck  to  the  Kearsarge   we  know  what  she 

can  do. 
Likewise  to  Captain  Winslow  and  his  brave  and  gallant 
crew. 

Hoist  up  the  flag,  and  long  may  it  wave 
Over  the  Union,  the  home  of  the  brave  ! 
Hoist  up  the  flag,  and  long  may  it  wave, 
God  bless  America,  the  home  of  the  brave  ! 


'kMJ 


BAYFIGHT 

(Mobile  Harbor,  Augfust  8,  1S64.) 


By    henry  HOWARD  BROWNKIJ.. 

THREE  days  through  sapphire  seas  we  sailed, 
The  steady  Trade  blew  strong  and  free, 
The  Northern  Light  his  banners  paled, 
The  Ocean  Stream  our  channels  wet, 

We  rounded  low  Canaveral's  lee, 
And  passed  the  isles  of  emerald  set 
In  blue  Bahama's  turquoise  sea. 

By  reef  and  shoal  obscurel}'  mapped, 
And  hauntings  of  the  gray  sea-wolf, 

The  palmy  Western  Key  lay  lapped 
In  the  warm  washing  of  the  Gulf. 

But  weary  to  the  hearts  of  all 
The  burning  glare,  tlie  barren  reach 
Of  Santa  Rosa's  withered  beach. 

And  Peusacola's  ruined  wall. 


170 


^be  JBas  yiQbt  171 


Aud  weary  was  the  long  patrol, 

The  thousand  miles  of  shapeless  strand. 

From  Brazos  to  San  Bias  that  roll 
Their  drifting  dunes  of  desert  sand. 

Yet  coastwise  as  we  cruised  or  lay, 
The  laud-breeze  still  at  nightfall  bore. 

By  beach  and  fortress-guarded  bay, 
Sweet  odors  from  the  enemy's  shore. 

Fresh  from  the  forest  solitudes, 

Unchallenged  of  his  sentry  lines, — 
The  bursting  of  his  cypress  buds, 
And  the  warm  fragrance  of  his  pines. 

Ah,  never  braver  bark  aud  crew. 
Nor  bolder  Flag  a  foe  to  dare, 

Had  left  a  wake  on  ocean  blue 

Since  Ivion-Heart  sailed  Trenc-le-mer  ! 


But  little  gain  by  that  dark  ground 
Was  ours,  save,  sometime,  freer  breath 

For  friend  or  brother  strangely  found, 
'Scaped  from  the  drear  domain  of  death. 

And  little  venture  for  the  bold, 
Or  laurel  for  our  valiant  Chief, 
Save  some  blockaded  British  thief, 

Full  fraught  with  murder  in  his  hold. 


172  Cbc  aSap  5iabt 


Caught  unawares  at  ebb  or  flood, 
Or  dull  bombardment,  day  by  day. 
With  fort  and  earthwork,  far  away. 

Low  couched  in  sullen  leaji^ues  of  mud. 

A  weary  time, — but  to  the  strouj^ 
The  day  at  last,  as  ever,  came  ; 

And  the  volcano,  laid  so  lonj^, 

Leaped  forth  in  thunder  and  in  flame ! 

"  Man  your  starboard  battery  f  " 
Kimberly  shouted  ; — 
The  ship,  with  her  hearts  of  oak, 
Was  going,  'mid  roar  and  smoke, 
On  to  \'ictor\'  ; 
None  of  us  doubted. 
No,  not  our  dying — 
Farragut's  Flag  was  flying  ! 

Gaines  growled  low  on  our  left, 
Morgan  roared  on  our  right ; 
Before  us,  gloomy  and  fell. 
With  breath  like  the  fume  of  hell, 
Lay  the  dragon  of  iron  shell, 
Driven  at  last  to  the  fight  ! 

Ha,  old  ship  !  do  they  thrill, 
The  brave  two  hundred  scars 
You  got  in  the  River- Wars  ? 


Zbe  JBas  3fi(;bt  173 


That  were  leeched  with  clamorous  skill, 
(Surgery  savage  and  hard,) 
Splinted  with  bolt  and  beam, 
Probed  in  scarfing  and  seam. 
Rudely  linted  and  tarred 
With  oakum  and  boiling  pitch, 
And  sutured  with  splice  and  hitch. 
At  the  Brooklyn  Navy- Yard  ! 

Our  lofty  spars  were  down, 

To  bide  the  battle's  frown 

(Wont  of  old  renown) — 

But  every  ship  was  drest 

In  her  bravest  and  her  best. 

As  if  for  a  July  day  ; 

Sixty  flags  and  three. 

As  we  floated  up  the  bay — 

At  ever)'  peak  and  mast-head  flew 

The  brave  Red,  White,  and  Blue,— 

We  were  eighteen  ships  that  day. 

With  hawsers  strong  and  taut, 
The  weaker  lashed  to  port. 
On  we  sailed  two  by  two — 
That  if  either  a  bolt  should  feel 
Crash  through  caldron  or  wheel, 
Fin  of  bronze,  or  sinew  of  steel. 
Her  mate  might  bear  her  through. 


174  Cbc  JiSag  jfitibt 


Forging  boldly  ahead, 

The  great  Flag-Ship  led, 

Grandest  of  sights  ! 

On  her  lofty  mizcen  flew 

Our  leader's  dauntless  Blue, 

That  had  waved  o'er  twenty  fights 

So  we  went  with  the  first  of  the  tide, 

Slowly,  'mid  the  roar 

Of  the  rebel  guns  ashore 

And  the  thunder  of  each  full  L/oadside. 

Ah,  how  poor  the  prate 
Of  statute  and  state 
We  once  held  these  fellows  ! 
Here  on  the  flood's  pale-green, 
Hark  how  he  bellows. 
Each  bluff"  old  Sea-Lawyer  ! 
Talk  to  them,  Dahlgren, 
Parrott,  and  Sawyer  ! 

On,  in  the  whirling  shade 
Of  the  cannon's  sulphur\'  breath, 
We  drew  to  the  Line  of  Death 
That  our  devilish  Foe  had  laid, — 
Meshed  in  a  horrible  net, 
And  baited  villainous  well, 
Right  in  our  path  were  set 
Three  hundred  traps  of  bcU  ! 


Zbc  J6ag  jfiabt  175 


And  there,  O  sight  forloni  ! 

There,  while  the  cannon 

Hurtled  and  thundered, — 

(Ah,  what  ill  raven 

Flapped  o'er  the  ship  that  morn  !) — 

Caught  by  the  under-death, 

In  the  drawing  of  a  breath 

Down  went  dauntless  Craven, 

He  and  his  hundred  ! 

A  moment  we  saw  her  turret, 

A  little  heel  she  gave. 

And  a  thin  white  spray  went  o'er  her. 

Like  the  crest  of  a  breaking  wave  ; — 

In  that  great  iron  coffin, 

The  channel  for  their  grave, 

The  fort  their  monument, 

(Seen  afar  in  the  offing). 

Ten  fathom  deep  lie  Craven 

And  the  bravest  of  our  brave. 

Then  in  that  deadly  track 
A  little  the  ships  held  back, 
Closing  up  in  their  stations  ; — 
There  are  minutes  that  fix  the  fate 
Of  battles  and  of  nations, 
(Christening  the  generations,) 
When  valor  were  all  too  late, 
If  a  moment's  doubt  be  harbored  ; — 


176  Zbc  JSag  jfiflbt 


From  the  main-top,  bold  and  brief, 
Came  the  word  of  our  grand  old  chief 
"  Go  on  /  " — 't  was  all  he  said, — 
Oar  helm  was  put  to  starboard, 
And  the  Hartford  passed  ahead. 


Ahead  lay  the  Tennessee^ 

On  our  starboard  bow  he  lay, 

With  his  mail-clad  consorts  three 

(The  rest  had  run  up  the  bay)  ; 

There  he  was,  belching  flame  from  his  bow, 

And  the  steam  from  his  throat's  abyss 

Was  a  Dragon's  maddened  hiss  ; 

In  sooth  a  most  cursed  craft  ! — 

In  a  sullen  ring,  at  bay, 

By  the  Middle-Ground  they  lay, 

Raking  us  fore  and  aft 


Trust  me,  our  berth  was  hot, 

Ah,  wickedly  well  they  shot — 

How  their  death-bolts  howled  and  stung  ! 

And  the  water-batteries  played 

With  their  deadly  cannonade 

Till  the  air  around  us  rung  ; 

So  the  battle  raged  and  roared  ; — 

Ah,  had  you  been  aboard 

To  have  seen  the  fight  we  made  ! 


^be  J6as  ifiabt  177 


How  they  leapt,  the  tongues  of  flame, 
From  the  cannon's  fiery  lip  ! 
How  the  broadsides,  deck  and  frame, 
Shook  the  great  ship  ! 

And  how  the  enemy's  shell 
Came  crashing,  heavy  and  oft, 
Clouds  of  splinters  flying  aloft 
And  falling  in  oaken  showers  ; — 
But  ah,  the  pluck  of  the  crew  ! 
Had  you  stood  on  that  deck  of  ours. 
You  had  seen  what  men  may  do. 

Still,  as  the  fray  grew  louder, 
Boldly  they  worked  and  well — 
Steadily  came  the  powder, 
Steadily  came  the  shell. 
And  if  tackle  or  truck  found  hurt. 
Quickly  they  cleared  the  wreck — 
And  the  dead  were  laid  to  port, 
All  a-row,  on  our  deck. 

Never  a  ner^-e  that  failed, 
Never  a  cheek  that  paled, 
Not  a  tinge  of  gloom  or  pallor  ; — 
There  was  bold  Kentucky's  grit. 
And  the  old  Virginian  valor, 
And  the  daring  Yankee  wit. 
Vol.  H. 


178  Cbc  .-nSax:  Jfu^bt 


There  were  blue  eyes  from  turfy  Shannon, 
There  were  bhick  orbs  from  pahny  Niger,- 
But  there  alongside  the  cannon, 
Each  man  fought  like  a  tiger  ! 

A  little,  once,  it  looked  ill, 

Our  consort  began  to  burn — 

They  quenched  the  flames  with  a  will. 

But  our  men  were  falling  still. 

And  still  the  fleet  were  astern. 

Right  abreast  of  the  Fort 
In  an  awful  shroud  they  lay, 
Broadsides  thundering  away. 
And  lightning  from  every  port ; 
Scene  of  glory  and  dread  ! 
A  storm-cloud  all  aglow 
With  flashes  of  fiery  red. 
The  thunder  raging  below, 


So  grand  the  hurly  and  roar, 
So  fiercely  their  broadsides  blazed, 
The  regiments  fighting  ashore 
Forgot  to  fire  as  they  gazed. 

There,  to  silence  the  foe. 
Moving  grimly  and  slow, 


^bc  J6ag  jfijjbt  179 


They  loomed  in  that  deadly  wreath, 
Where  the  darkest  batteries  frowned, 
Death  in  the  air  all  round. 
And  the  black  torpedoes  beneath  ! 

And  now,  as  we  looked  ahead. 
All  for'ard,  the  long  white  deck 
Was  growing  a  strange  dull  red, — 
But  soon,  as  once  and  again 
Fore  and  aft  we  sped, 
(The  firing  to  guide  or  check,) 
You  could  hardly  choose  but  tread 
On  the  ghastly  human  wreck, 
(Dreadful  gobbet  and  shred 
That  a  minute  ago  were  men  ! ) 
Red,  from  mainmast  to  bitts  ! 
Red,  on  bulwark  and  wale, 
Red,  by  combing  and  hatch. 
Red,  o'er  netting  and  vail ! 

And  ever,  with  steady  con. 
The  ship  forged  slowly  by, — 
And  ever  the  crew  fought  on. 
And  their  cheers  rang  loud  and  highc 

Grand  was  the  sight  to  see 
How  by  their  guns  they  stood, 
Right  in  front  of  our  dead, 


[8o  tTbe  JBag  ^igbt 

Figlitiuj^  square  abreast — 
Each  brawny  arm  and  chest 
All  spotted  with  black  and  red, 
Chrism  of  fire  and  blood  I 

Worth  our  watch,  dull  and  sterile, 
Worth  all  the  weary  time, 
Worth  the  woe  and  the  peril. 
To  stand  in  that  strait  sublime  ! 

Fear  ?   A  forgotten  form  ! 
Death  ?     A  dream  of  the  eyes  ! 
We  were  atoms  in  God's  great  storm 
That  roared  through  the  angry  skies. 

One  only  doubt  was  ours, 
One  only  dread  we  knew, — 
Could  the  day  that  dawned  so  well 
Go  down  for  the  Darker  Powers  ? 
Would  the  fleet  get  through  ? 
And  ever  the  shot  and  shell 
Came  with  the  howl  of  hell, 
The  splinter-clouds  rose  and  fell, 
And  the  long  line  of  corpses  grew,— 
Would  the  fleet  win  through  ? 

They  are  men  that  never  will  fail. 
(How  aforetime  they  've  fought !  ) 
But  Murder  may  yet  prevail, — 
They  may  sink  as  Craven  sank. 


XLbc  JSag  IFiabt  i8i 

Therewith  oue  hard  fierce  thought, 
Burning  on  heart  and  lip, 
Ran  like  fire  through  the  ship  ; 
Fight  her,  to  the  last  plank  ! 

A  dimmer  renown  might  strike 

If  Death  lay  square  alongside, — 

But  the  old  Flag  has  no  like, 

She  must  fight,  whatever  betide  ; — 

When  the  War  is  a  tale  of  old. 

And  this  day's  story  is  told, 

They  shall  hear  how  the  Hartford  died  ! 

But  as  we  ranged  ahead. 
And  the  leading  ships  worked  in. 
Losing  their  hope  to  win, 
The  enemy  turned  and  fled — 
And  one  seeks  a  shallow  reach  ! 
And  another,  winged  in  her  flight, 
Our  mate,  brave  Jouett,  brings  in  ; — 
And  one,  all  torn  in  the  fight, 
Runs  for  a  wreck  on  the  beach, 
Where  her  flames  soon  fire  the  night. 

And  the  Ram,  when  we)'  up  the  Ba}-, 
And  we  looked  that  our  stems  should  meet, 
(He  had  us  fair  for  a  prey,) 
Shifting  his  helm  midway. 
Sheered  off,  and  ran  for  the  fleet ; 


i82  Cbc  JCag  jfiabt 

There,  without  skulking  or  sham, 
He  fought  them  gun  for  gun  ; 
And  ever  he  sought  to  ram, 
But  could  finish  never  a  one. 


From  the  first  of  the  iron  shower 
Till  we  sent  our  parting  shell, 
'T  was  just  one  savage  hour 
Of  the  roar  and  the  rage  of  hell. 

With  the  lessening  smoke  and  thunder, 

Our  glasses  around  we  aim, — 

What  is  that  burning  yonder  ? 

Our  Philippi — aground  and  in  flame  ! 

Below,  't  was  still  all  a-roar. 
As  the  ships  went  by  the  shore, 
But  the  fire  of  the  Fort  had  slacked, 
(So  fierce  their  volleys  had  been,) — 
And  now  with  a  mighty  din. 
The  whole  fleet  came  grandly  in. 
Though  sorely  battered  and  wracked= 

So,  up  the  Bay  we  ran, 
The  Flag  to  port  and  ahead, — 
And  a  pitying  rain  began 
To  wash  the  lips  of  our  dead. 


XLbc  JBag  jfiabt  183 

A  league  from  the  Fort  we  lay, 
And  deemed  that  the  end  must  lag, — 
When  lo  !  looking  down  the  Bay, 
There  flaunted  the  Rebel  Rag  ; — 
The  Ram  is  again  under  way 
And  heading  dead  for  the  Flag  ! 

Steering  up  with  the  stream, 

Boldly  his  course  he  lay, 

Though  the  fleet  all  answered  his  fire. 

And,  as  he  still  drew  nigher. 

Ever  on  bow  and  beam 

Our  Monitors  pounded  away  ; 

How  the  Chickasaiv  hammered  away  ! 

Quickly  breasting  the  wave, 
Eager  the  prize  to  win. 
First  of  us  all  the  brave 
Monongahela  went  in 
Under  full  head  of  steam  ; — 
Twice  she  struck  him  abeam, 
Till  her  stem  was  a  sorry  work, 
(She  might  have  run  on  a  crag  ! ) 
The  LackawanJia  hit  fair. 
He  flung  her  aside  like  cork. 
And  still  he  held  for  the  Flag. 

High  in  the  mizzen  shroud, 

(Lest  the  smoke  his  sight  o'erwhelm,) 


i84  trbe  JSag  jFicibt 

Our  Admiral's  voice  rang  loud  ; 

"  Hard-a-starboard  your  helm  ! 

Starboard ,  aud  run  him  down  !  " 

Starboard  it  was, — and  so, 

Like  a  bl?ck  squall's  lifting  frown, 

Our  mighty  bow  bore  down 

On  the  iron  beak  of  the  Foe. 

We  stood  on  the  deck  together, 
Men  that  had  looked  on  death 
In  battle  and  stormy  weather  ; 
Yet  a  little  we  held  our  breath, 
When,  with  the  hush  of  death, 
The  great  ships  drew  together. 

Our  Captain  strode  to  the  bow, 

Drayton,  courtly  and  wise, 

Kindly  cynic,  and  wise, 

(You  hardly  had  known  him  now, 

The  flame  of  fight  in  his  eyes  !) — 

His  brave  heart  eager  to  feel 

How  the  oak  would  tell  on  the  steel ! 

But,  as  the  space  grew  short, 
A  little  he  seemed  to  shun  us ; 
Out  peered  a  form  grim  and  lanky. 
And  a  voice  yelled,  "  Hard-a-port  ! 
Hard-a-port ! — here  's  the  damned  Yankc 
Coming  right  down  on  us  /  " 


^be  JBas  jFiabt  185 

He  sheered,  but  the  ships  ran  foul 
With  a  gnarriug  shudder  and  growl : 
He  gave  us  a  deadly  gun  ; 
But  as  he  passed  in  his  pride, 
(Rasping  right  alongside !) 
The  old  Flag,  in  thunder-tones 
Poured  in  her  port  broadside. 
Rattling  his  iron  hide 
And  cracking  his  timber-bones  ! 


Just  then,  at  speed  on  the  Foe, 

With  her  bow  all  weathered  and  brown, 

The  great  Lackazvaufia  came  down 

Full  tilt,  for  another  blow ; — 

We  were  forging  ahead. 

She  reversed — but,  for  all  our  pains. 

Rammed  the  old  Hartford,  instead. 

Just  for'ard  the  mizzen  chains  ' 


Ah  !  how  the  masts  did  buckle  and  bend, 
And  the  stout  hull  ring  and  reel, 
As  she  took  us  right  on  end  ! 
(Vain  were  engine  and  wheel. 
She  was  under  full  steam,) — 
With  the  roar  of  a  thunder-stroke 
Her  two  thousand  tons  of  oak 
Brought  up  on  us,  right  abeam  ! 


i86  XLbc  JiSag  jfiflbt 


A  wreck,  as  it  looked,  we  lay, — 
(Rib  and  plank  shear  gave  way 
To  the  stroke  of  that  giant  wedge ! ) 
Here,  after  all,  we  go — 
The  old  ship  is  gone  ! — ah,  no, 
But  cut  to  the  water's  edge. 

Never  mind  then, — at  him  again  ! 
His  flurry  now  can't  last  long; 
He  '11  never  again  see  land, — 
Try  that  on  him,  Marchand  ! 
On  him  again,  brave  Strong  ! 

Heading  square  at  the  hulk, 

Full  on  his  beam  we  bore  ; 

But  the  spine  of  the  huge  Sea-Hog 

Lay  on  the  tide  like  a  log. 

He  vomited  flame  no  more. 


By  this,  he  had  found  it  hot ; — 
Half  the  fleet,  in  an  angr}-  ring, 
Closed  round  the  hideous  thing, 
Hammering  with  solid  shot, 
And  bearing  down,  bow  on  bow  ; 
He  has  but  a  minute  to  choose, — 
Life  or  renown  ? — which  now 
Will  the  Rebel  Admiral  lose? 


Zbc  JBag  jfiGbt  187 


Cruel,  haughty,  aud  cold, 

He  ever  was  strong  and  bold  ; 

Shall  he  shrink  from  a  wooden  stem  ? 

He  will  think  of  that  brave  band 

He  sank  in  the  CuDibcrland ; 

Ay,  he  will  sink  like  them. 

Nothing  left  but  to  fight 

Boldly  his  last  sea-fight ! 

Can  he  strike  ?     By  Heaven,  't  is  true  ! 

Down  conies  the  traitor  Blue, 

And  up  goes  the  captive  White  ! 

Up  went  the  White  !     Ah,  then 
The  hurrahs  that  once  and  again 
Rang  from  three  thousand  men 
All  flushed  and  savage  with  fight ! 
Our  dead  lay  cold  and  stark  ; 
But  our  dying,  down  in  the  dark. 
Answered  as  best  they  might. 
Lifting  their  poor  lost  arms. 
And  cheering  for  God  and  Right ! 


Ended  the  mighty  noise. 
Thunder  of  forts  and  ships. 
Down  we  went  to  the  hold. 
Oh,  our  dear  dying  boys  ! 


i88  Ubc  oeag  jfiijbt 


How  we  pressed  their  poor  brave  lips 
(Ah,  so  pallid  and  cold  !) 
And  held  their  hands  to  the  last, 
(Those  who  had  hands  to  hold). 

Still  thee,  O  woman  heart  ! 
(So  strong  an  hour  ago  ;) 
If  the  idle  tears  must  start, 
'  T  is  not  in  vain  they  flow. 

They  died,  our  children  dear. 

On  the  drear  berth-deck  they  died, — 

Do  not  think  of  them  here — 

Even  now  their  footsteps  near 

The  immortal,  tender  sphere — 

(Land  of  love  and  cheer  ! 

Home  of  the  Crucified  !). 

And  the  glorious  deed  surs'ives  ; 
Our  threescore,  quiet  and  cold, 
Lie  thus,  for  a  myriad  lives 
And  treasure-millions  untold, — 
(Labor  of  poor  men's  lives. 
Hunger  of  weans  and  wives, 
Such  is  war-wasted  gold). 

Our  ship  and  her  fame  to-day 

Shall  float  on  the  storied  Stream 

When  mast  and  shroud  have  crumbled  away, 

And  her  long  white  deck  is  a  dream. 


Cbe  JBa^  jfiabt  189 


One  daring  leap  in  the  dark, 
Three  mortal  hours,  at  the  most, — 
And  hell  lies  stiff  and  stark 
On  a  hundred  leagues  of  coast. 

For  the  mighty  Gulf  is  ours, — 
The  bay  is  lost  and  won. 
An  Bnipire  is  lost  and  won  ! 
Land,  if  thou  yet  hast  flowers. 
Twine  them  in  one  more  wreath 
Of  tenderest  white  and  red, 
(Twin  buds  of  glory  and  death  ! ) 
For  the  brows  of  our  brave  dead, 
For  thy  Navy's  noblest  son. 

Joy,  O  Land,  for  thy  sons, 
Victors  by  flood  and  field  ! 
The  traitor  walls  and  guns 
Have  nothing  left  but  to  yield  ; 
(Even  now  they  surrender  !  ) 

And  the  ships  shall  sail  once  more, 
And  the  cloud  of  war  sweep  on 
To  break  on  the  cruel  shore  ; — 
But  Craven  is  gone. 
He  and  his  hundred  are  gone. 

The  flags  flutter  up  and  down 
At  sunrise  and  twilight  dim, 


I90  Cbc  JGag  Jfiiibl 


The  cannons  menace  and  frown, 
But  never  again  for  liini, 
Him  and  the  hundred. 

The  Dahlj^rens  are  (himlj, 
Dumb  are  the  mortars  ; 
Never  more  shall  the  drum 
Beat  to  colors  and  quarters, — 
The  great  guns  are  silent. 

O  brave  heart  and  loyal  ! 
Let  all  your  colors  dip  ; — 
Mourn  him  proud  ship  ! 
From  main  deck  to  royal. 
God  rest  our  Captain, 
Rest  our  lost  hundred  ! 

Droop,  flag  and  pennant ! 
What  is  your  pride  for? 
Heaven,  that  he  died  for, 
Rest  our  Lieutenant, 
Rest  our  brave  threescore  ! 


O  Mother  Land  !  this  weary  life 
We  led,  we  lead,  is  'long  of  thee ; 

Thine  the  strong  agony  of  strife, 
And  thine  the  lonely  sea. 


Zbc  JBa^  jFicjt^t  igi 


Thine  the  long  decks  all  slaughter-sprent, 

The  weary  rows  of  cots  that  lie 
With  wrecks  of  strong  men,  marred  and  rent, 

'Neath  Pensacolr's  sky. 

And  thine  the  iron  caves  and  dens 

Wherein  the  flame  our  war-fleet  drives  ; 

The  fiery  vaults,  whose  breath  is  men's 
Most  dear  and  precious  lives  ! 

Ah,  ever  when  with  storm  sublime 
Dread  Nature  clears  our  murky  air, 

Thus  in  the  crash  of  falling  crime 
Some  lesser  guilt  must  share. 

Full  red  the  furnace  fires  must  glow 
That  melt  the  ore  of  mortal  kind  ; 

The  mills  of  God  are  grinding  slow, 
But  ah,  how  close  they  grind ! 

To-day  the  Dahlgren  and  the  drum 
Are  dread  Apostles  of  His  Name ; 

His  kingdom  here  can  only  come 
By  chrism  of  blood  and  flame. 

Be  strong  :  already  slants  the  gold 
Athwart  these  wild  and  stormy  skies  : 

From  out  this  blackened  waste,  behold 
What  happy  homes  shall  rise ! 


192  ^be  J6ag  jfiobt 

But  see  thou  well  no  traitor  gloze, 

No  strikin}<  hands  with  Death  and  Shame, 

Betray  the  sacred  blood  that  flows 
So  freely  for  thy  name. 

And  never  fear  a  victor  foe  — 

Thy  children's  hearts  are  stronj^  and  high 
Nor  mourn  too  fondly  ;  well  they  know 

On  deck  or  field  to  die. 

Nor  shalt  thou  want  one  willing  breath, 
Though,  ever  smiling  round  the  brave, 

The  blue  sea  bear  us  on  to  death, 
The  green  were  one  wide  grave. 


THE  LOYAIv  FISHER. 

THE  wife  in  the  cot  is  lonely 
vSince  the  fisher  went  awa\', 
And  the  sun-burnt  child  it  hath  not  sniiPd 

This  many  and  many  a  day. 
And  the  schools  of  mack'rel  come  unscared 
To  the  shoals  of  the  inner  bay. 

For  the  fisherman  said  one  spring-time  : 

"  Dear  w4fe,  I  have  set  my  sail 
These  twenty  years  to  the  northern  meres, 

The  icebergs,  the  mist  and  gale. 
And  my  country  hath  paid  the  shot,  good  wife, 

However  I  chanced  to  fail. 

*  Yes,  paid  for  my  sailor  s  knowledge. 

And  the  skill  of  my  ready  hand  ; 
And  the  blue  on  my  arm,  as  a  sacred  charm, 

Is  the  flag  that  guards  the  land. 
The  time  has  come  to  pay  that  debt, 

Tho'  my  life  it  should  demand. 

193 


I'M  Cbc  Xogal  jfi»bcr 


So  bravely  Hie  loyal  fisher 

Sailed  for  the  southern  sea, 
Never  a  hook  nor  a  bait  he  took 

For  the  deadly  fishery  ; 
But  the  staunchest  man  at  the  strainiiij^  rope 

In  the  northerner  was  he. 

On  the  bloody  deck  of  the  Ilartjord 

At  last  the  fisher  lay, 
The  azure  charm  pricked  on  his  arm 

Was  striped  with  red  that  day  ; 
And  his  debt  of  twenty  years  was  paid 

With  a  life  in  Mobile  Bay. 


SIIERMAN'vS   MARCH   TO   THE   vSEA. 

By  SAMUKIv  II.  M.  BYKRS. 

[General  Sherman,  in  a  recent  conversation  with  tlie 
editor  of  this  collection,  declared  that  it  was  this  poem 
with  its  phrase,  "  march  to  the  sea,"  that  threw  a  glamour 
of  romance  over  the  campaign  which  it  celebrates.  Said 
General  Sherman:  "The  thing  was  nothing  more  or 
less  than  a  change  of  base,  an  operation  perfectly  familiar 
to  every  military  man,  but  a  poet  got  hold  of  it,  gave 
it  the  captivating  label,  'The  March  to  the  Sea,'  and 
the  unmilitary  public  made  a  romance  out  of  it."  It 
may  be  remarked  that  the  General's  modesty  overlooks 
the  important  fact  that  the  romance  lay  really  in  his 
own  deed  of  derring-do  ;  the  poet  merely  recorded  it,  or 
at  most  interpreted  it  to  the  popular  intelligence.  The 
glory  of  the  great  campaign  was  Sherman's  and  his 
army's  ;  the  joy  of  celebrating  it  was  the  poet's  ;  the 
admiring  memory  of  it  is  the  people's. — Editor.] 
195 


SHERMAN'S  MARCH  TO  THE  SEA. 

OUR  camp-fires  shone  bright  on  the  mountain 
That  frowned  on  the  river  below, 
As  we  stood  by  our  guns  in  the  morning, 

And  eagerly  watched  for  the  foe  ; 
When  a  rider  came  out  of  the  darkness 

That  hung  over  mountain  and  tree, 
And  shouted  :  "  Boys,  up  and  be  ready  ! 
For  Sherman  will  march  to  the  sea." 

Then  cheer  upon  cheer  for  bold  Sherman 

Went  up  from  each  valley  and  glen, 
And  the  bugles  re-echoed  the  nmsic 

That  came  from  the  lips  of  the  men  ; 
For  we  knew  that  the  stars  in  our  banner 

More  bright  in  their  splendor  would  be. 
And  that  blessings  from  Northland  w^ould  greet  us 

When  Sherman  marched  down  to  the  sea. 

Then  forw^ard,  boys  !  forward  to  battle  ! 

We  marched  on  our  wearisome  way, 
We  stormed  the  wild  hills  of  Resaca, 

God  bless  those  who  fell  on  that  day  ! 
196 


Sberman'6  /Iftarcb  to  tbe  Sea  197 

Theu  Kenesaw,  dark  in  its  glory, 

Frowned  down  on  the  flag  of  tbe  free, 

But  the  East  and  the  West  bore  our  standard 
And  Sherman  marched  on  to  the  sea. 

Still  onward  we  pressed  till  our  banners 

Swept  out  from  Atlanta's  grim  walls, 
And  the  blood  of  the  patriot  dampened 

The  soil  where  the  traitor  flag  falls. 
We  paused  not  to  weep  for  the  fallen, 

Who  slept  by  each  river  and  tree. 
Yet  we  twined  them  a  wreath  of  the  laurel 

As  Sherman  marched  down  to  the  sea. 

Oh,  proud  was  our  army  that  morning, 

That  stood  where  the  pine  darkly  towers. 
When  Sherman  said  :  **  Boys,  you  are  weary, 

But  to-day  fair  Savannah  is  ours  !  " 
Then  sang  we  the  song  of  our  chieftain, 

That  echoed  o'er  river  and  lea, 
And  the  stars  in  our  banner  shone  brighter 

When  Sherman  marched  down  to  the  sea. 


W^PfT" 

2^  4  |C<^*  ^t^K^ 

s 

M 

^^PH 

mS^ 

9^^^^B 

^Bk 

»SinK!<  it>iBe^^:iY  #1 

BSC^ 

^■^^j^^x^ 

^s 

m 

^^^^i 

SHERMAN'vS   MARCH. 
By  a  soldier. 

THEIR  lips  are  still  as  the  lips  of  the  dead, 
The  gaze  of  their  eyes  is  straight  ahead  ; 
The  tramp,  tramp,  tramp  of  ten  thousand  feet 
Keep  time  to  that  muffled,  monotonous  beat, — 
Rub  a  club  dub  !  rub  a  dub  dub  ! 

Ten  thousand  more  !  and  still  they  come 
To  fight  a  1)attle  for  Christendom  ! 
With  cannon  and  caissons,  and  flags  unfurled, 
The  foremost  men  in  all  the  world  ! 

Rub  a  dub  dub  !  rub  a  dub  dub  ! 

The  foe  is  entrenched  on  the  frowning  hill, — 
A  natural  fortress,  strengthened  by  skill  ; 
But  vain  are  the  walls  to  those  who  face 
The  champions  of  the  human  race  ! 

Rub  a  dub  dub  ;  rub  a  dub  dub ! 
198 


5bcrman*6  /Hbarcb  199 

"  By  regiment  !     Forward  into  line  !  " 
Then  sabres  and  guns  and  bayonets  shine. 
Oh  ye,  who  feel  your  fate  at  last, 
Repeat  the  old  prayer  as  your  hearts  beat  fast ! 
Rub  a  dub  dub  !  rub  a  dub  dub  ! 

Oh,  ye  who  waited  and  prayed  so  long 
That  Right  might  have  a  fair  fight  with  Wrong, 
No  more  in  fruitless  marches  shall  plod, 
But  smite  the  foe  with  the  wrath  of  God  ! 
Rub  a  dub  dub  !  rub  a  dub  dub  ! 

O  Death  !  what  a  charge  that  carried  the  hill  ! 
That  carried,  and  kept,  and  holds  it  still  ! 
The  foe  is  broken  and  flying  with  fear. 
While  far  on  their  route  our  drummers  I  hear, — 
Rub  a  dub  dub  !  rub  a  dub  dub  ! 


THE  YEAR  OF  JUBILEE. 

[A  body  of  negro  troops  entered  Richmond  singing 
this  song  when  the  Union  forces  took  possession  of  the 
Confederate  capital.  It  is  an  interesting  fact,  illustrative 
of  the  elasticity  of  spirit  shown  by  the  losers  in  the  great 
contest,  that  the  song,  which  might  have  been  supposed 
to  be  peculiarly  offensive  to  their  wounded  pride  and 
completely  out  of  harmony  with  their  deep  depression 
and  chagrin,  became  at  once  a  favorite  among  them,  and 
was  sung,  with  applause,  by  young  men  and  maidens  in 
wellnigh  every  house  in  Virginia. — Editor.] 


SAY,  darkeys,  hab  you  scan  de  massa, 
Wid  de  muffstash  on  he  face. 
Go  long  de  road  some  time  dis  morniu', 

Like  he  gwine  leabe  de  place  ? 

He  see  de  smoke  w-ay  up  de  ribber 

Whar  de  Lincuni  gunboats  lay  ; 


Zbc  l^car  of  jubilee  201 

He  took  lie  hat  au'  lefF berry  sudden, 
And  I  spose  he  's  runned  away. 
De  massa  run,  ha,  ha  ! 
De  darkey  stay,  ho,  ho  ! 
It  mus'  be  now  de  kingduni  comin', 
An'  de  yar  ob  jubilo. 

He  six  foot  one  way  an'  two  foot  todder, 

An'  he  weigh  six  hundred  poun'  ; 
His  coat  so  big  he  could  n't  pay  de  tailor. 

An'  it  w^on't  reach  halfway  roun'  ; 
He  drill  so  much  dey  calls  him  cap'n, 

An  he  git  so  mighty  tanned, 
I  spec  he  '11  try  to  fool  dem  Yankees, 
For  to  tink  he  contraband. 
De  massa  run,  ha,  ha  ! 
De  darkey  stay,  ho,  ho  ! 
It  mus'  be  now  de  kingdum  comin', 
An'  de  yar  ob  jubilo. 

De  darkeys  got  so  lonesome  libb'n 

In  de  log  hut  on  de  lawn, 
Dey  moved  dere  tings  into  massa's  parlor 

For  to  keep  it  while  he  gone. 
Dar  's  wine  an'  cider  in  de  kitchin, 

An'  de  darkeys  dey  hab  some, 
I  spec  it  will  be  all  fiscated. 

When  de  Lincum  sojers  come. 


Zbc  l!)car  ot  jubilee 


De  massa  run,  ha,  ha  ! 

De  darkey  stay,  ho,  ho  ! 

It  mus'  be  now  de  kingduni  comiu', 

An'  de  yar  ob  jubilo. 

De  oberseer  he  makes  us  Irubble, 

An'  he  dribe  us  roun'  a  spell, 
We  lock  him  up  in  de  smoke-house  cellar, 

Wid  de  key  flung  in  de  well. 
De  whip  am  lost,  de  han'-cufF  broke. 

But  de  massy  hab  his  pay  ; 
He  big  an'  ole  enough  for  to  know  better 
Dan  to  went  an'  run  away. 
De  massa  run,  ha,  ha  ! 
De  darkey  stay,  ho,  ho  ! 
It  mus'  be  now  de  kingduni  coniin'. 
An'  de  yar  ob  jubilo. 


THE  CONQUERED  BANNER. 

By    ABRAM  J.    RYAN. 

[This  poem  appeared  very  soon  after  the  surrender  of 
the  Confederate  armies,  and  was  probably  the  first,  as  it 
is  the  finest,  poetical  expression  of  reverent  regret  for  the 
Lost  Cause,  without  any  touch  of  bitterness  in  its  loss. 
The  author  was  a  Catholic  priest,  who  wrote  a  number 
of  poems  of  merit,  though  none  that  appealed  so  strongly 
as  this  one  does  to  the  generous  sympathy  of  the  "victor 
with  the  sorrow  of  the  vanquished.  The  author  was  born 
in  Norfolk,  Va.,  August  15,  1839,  and  died  in  Louisville, 
Ky.,  April  22,  1886.— Editor.] 


203 


THE  CONQUERED  BANNER. 

FURIv  that  Banner,  for  't  is  weary, 
Round  its  staff  't  is  drooping  dreary 
Furl  it,  fold  it, — it  is  best ; 
For  there  's  not  a  man  to  wave  it. 
And  there  's  not  a  sword  to  save  it. 
And  there  's  not  one  left  to  lave  it 
In  the  blood  which  heroes  gave  it, 
204 


^be  Conquered  JSanner  205 

And  its  foes  now  scorn  and  brave  it : 
Furl  it,  hide  it,— let  it  rest ! 

Take  the  Banner  down  !  't  is  tattered  ; 
Broken  is  its  staff  and  shattered, 
And  the  valiant  hosts  are  scattered 

Over  whom  it  floated  high. 
Oh,  't  is  hard  for  us  to  fold  it, 
Hard  to  think  there  's  none  to  hold  it. 
Hard  that  those  who  once  unrolled  it 

Now  must  furl  it  with  a  sigh  ! 


Furl  that  Banner — furl  it  sadly  ; 
Once  ten  thousands  hailed  it  gladly, 
And  ten  thousands  wildly,  madly 

Swore  it  should  forever  wave — 
Swore  that  foemen's  sword  could  never 
Hearts  like  theirs  entwined  dissever, 
And  that  flag  should  float  forever 

O'er  their  freedom,  or  their  grave  ! 


Furl  it ! — for  the  hands  that  grasped  it, 
And  the  hearts  that  fondly  clasped  it, 

Cold  and  dead  are  lying  low  ; 
And  the  Banner — it  is  trailing, 
While  around  it  sounds  the  wailing, 

Of  its  people  in  their  woe ; 


2o6  Cbc  Conquered  JGanncr 


For  though  conquered,  they  adore  it- 
Love  the  cold  dead  hands  that  bore  it, 
Weep  for  those  who  fell  before  it, 
Pardon  those  who  trailed  and  tore  it ; 
And,  oh,  wildly  they  deplore  it, 
Now  to  furl  and  fold  it  so  ! 

l'"url  that  Banner  !     Trne,  't  is  gor>'. 
Yet  't  is  wreathed  around  with  glory. 
And  't  will  live  in  song  and  story 

Though  its  folds  are  in  the  dust ! 
For  its  fame  on  brightest  pages, 
Penned  by  poets  and  by  sages. 
Shall  go  sounding  down  the  ages — 

Furl  its  folds  though  now  we  must ! 

Furl  that  Banner,  softly,  slowly  ; 
Treat  it  gently — it  is  holy, 

For  it  droops  above  the  dead  ; 
Touch  it  not — unfold  it  never  ; 
Let  it  droop  there,  furled  forever, — 

For  its  people's  hopes  are  fled. 


[Southern.] 


SOMEBODY'S  DARLING. 

By  MARIA  I.A  CONTE, 

INTO  a  ward  of  the  whitewashed  halls 
Where  the  dead  and  the  dying  lay, 
Wounded  by  bayonets,  shells,  and  balls, 

Somebody's  darling  was  borne  one  day — 
Somebody's  darling,  so  young  and  brave  ; 

Wearing  yet  on  his  sweet  pale  face — 
Soon  to  be  hid  in  the  dust  of  the  grave — 
The  lingering  light  of  his  boyhood's  grace. 


Matted  and  damp  are  the  curls  of  gold 

Kissing  the  snow  of  that  fair  young  brow, 
Pale  are  the  lips  of  delicate  mould — 

Somebody's  darling  is  dying  now. 
Back  from  his  beautiful  blue-veined  brow 

Brush  his  wandering  waves  of  gold  ; 
Cross  his  hands  on  his  bosom  now — 

Somebody's  darling  is  still  and  cold. 
207 


2o8  SomcboDg's  Darlina 

Kiss  him  once  for  somebody's  sake, 

]\Iurmur  a  prayer  soft  and  low  ; 
One  bright  curl  from  its  fair  mates  take — 

They  were  somebody's  pride,  you  know. 
Somebody's  hand  hath  rested  here — 

Was  it  a  mother's,  soft  and  white  ? 
Or  have  the  lips  of  a  sister  fair 

Been  baptized  in  their  waves  of  light  ? 


God  knows  best.     He  has  somebody's  love, 

Somebody's  heart  enshrined  him  there. 
Somebody  wafts  his  name  above, 

Night  and  morn,  on  the  wings  of  prayer. 
Somebody  wept  when  he  marched  away. 

Looking  so  handsome,  brave,  and  grand  ; 
Somebody's  kiss  on  his  forehead  lay. 

Somebody  clung  to  his  parting  hand. 

Somebody  's  watching  and  waiting  for  him. 

Yearning  to  hold  him  again  to  her  heart ; 
And  there  he  lies  with  his  blue  eyes  dim, 

And  the  smiling,  childlike  lips  apart. 
Tenderly  bury  the  fair  young  dead — 

Pausing  to  drop  on  his  grave  a  tear. 
Car\'e  on  the  wooden  slab  o'er  his  head  : 

"  Somebody's  darling  slumbers  here." 

[Southern.] 


^^ 

§p^ 

^pp 

^>NS^^^fl^^^|S 

^^ 

P^ 

5^^ 

R^^^^^^^ 

^ 

^ 

^^3m 

LEFT  ON  THE  BATTLE-FIELD. 

By  SARAH  T.  BOVrON. 

WHAT,  was  it  a  dream  ?  am  I  all  alone 
In  the  dreary  night  and  the  drizzling  rain  ? 
Hist  ! — ah,  it  was  only  the  river's  moan  ; 
They  have  left  me  behind  with  the  mangled  slain 

Yes,  now  I  remember  it  all  too  well  ! 

We  met,  from  the  battling  ranks  apart  ; 
Together  our  weapons  flashed  and  fell, 

And  mine  was  sheathed  in  his  quivering  heart. 

In  the  cypress  gloom,  where  the  deed  was  done, 

It  was  all  too  dark  to  see  his  face  ; 
But  I  heard  his  death  groans,  one  by  one. 

And  he  holds  me  still  in  a  cold  embrace. 

He  spoke  but  once,  and  I  could  not  hear 
The  words  he  said,  for  the  cannon's  roar  ; 

But  my  heart  grew  cold  with  a  deadly  fear, — 
O  God !  I  had  heard  that  voice  before  ! 
Vol.  11.  2og 


Xctt  on  tbc  JCattlc:=aiclD 


Had  heard  it  before  at  our  mother's  knee, 

When  we  lisped  the  words  of  our  evening  prayer ! 

My  brother  !  would  I  had  died  for  thee, — 
This  burden  is  more  than  my  soul  can  bear  ! 

I  pressed  my  lips  to  his  death-cold  cheek, 

And  begged  him  to  show  me  by  word  or  sign, 

That  he  knew  and  forgave  me  ;  he  could  not  speak, 
But  he  nestled  his  poor  cold  face  to  mine. 

The  blood  flowed  fast  from  my  wounded  side. 
And  then  for  a  while  I  forgot  my  pain. 

And  over  the  lakelet  we  seemed  to  glide 
In  our  little  boat,  two  boys  again. 

And  then,  in  my  dream,  we  stood  alone 
On  a  forest  path  where  the  shadows  fell  ; 

And  I  heard  again  the  tremulous  tone 
And  the  tender  words  of  his  last  farewell. 

But  that  parting  was  years,  long  years  ago, 

He  wandered  away  to  a  foreign  land  ; 
And  our  dear  old  mother  will  never  know 

That  he  died  to-night  b}'  his  brother's  hand. 


The  soldiers  who  buried  the  dead  away 

Disturbed  not  the  clasp  of  that  last  embrace. 

But  laid  them  to  sleep  till  the  judgment  day. 
Heart  folded  to  heart,  and  face  to  face. 


DRIVING  HOME  THE  COWS. 


BY  KATE  PUTNAM  OSGOOD. 

OUT  of  the  clover  and  blue-eyed  grass, 
He  turned  them  into  the  river-lane  ; 
One  after  another  he  let  them  pass, 
Then  fastened  the  meadow  bars  again. 

Under  the  willows,  and  over  the  hill, 
He  patiently  followed  their  sober  pace  ; 

The  merry  whistle  for  once  was  still, 

And  something  shadowed  the  sunny  face. 

211 


212  Driving  t)omc  tbc  CowB 

Only  a  boy  !  and  bis  fatber  bad  said 
He  never  could  let  bis  youngest  go  ; 

Two  already  were  lying  dead 

I'nder  tbe  feet  of  tbe  trampling  foe. 

But  after  tbe  evening  work  was  done, 
And  tbe  frogs  were  loud  in  tbe  meadow  swamp, 

Over  bis  sboulder  be  slung  bis  gun, 

And  stealtbily  followed  tbe  foot-patb  damp. 

Across  tbe  clover  and  tbrougb  tbe  wbeat, 
Witb  resolute  lieart  and  purpose  grim, 

Tbougb  cold  was  tbe  dew  on  bis  burrying  feet, 
And  tbe  blind  bat's  flitting  startled  bim. 

Tbrice  since  tben  bad  tbe  lanes  been  wbite, 
And  tbe  orcbards  sweet  witb  apple-bloom  ; 

And  now  wben  tbe  cows  came  back  at  nigbt, 
Tbe  feeble  fatber  drove  tbem  bome. 

For  news  bad  come  to  tbe  lonely  farm 

Tbat  tbree  were  lying  wbere  two  bad  lain  ; 

And  tbe  old  man's  tremulous,  palsied  arm 
Could  never  lean  on  a  son's  again. 

Tbe  summer  day  grew  cold  and  late, 

He  went  for  tbe  cows  wben  tbe  work  was  done 

But  down  tbe  lane,  as  be  opened  tbe  gate, 
He  saw  tbem  coming,  one  by  one, — 


2)rivina  tbomc  tbe  Cow6  213 


Brindle,  Ebony,  Speckle,  and  Bess, 

Shaking  their  horns  in  the  evening  wind  ; 

Cropping  the  buttercups  out  of  the  grass, — 
But  who  was  it  following  close  behind  ? 

Loosely  swung  in  the  idle  air 

The  empty  sleeve  of  army  blue  ; 
And  worn  and  pale  from  the  crisping  hair 

Looked  out  a  face  that  the  father  knew. 

For  vSouthern  prisons  will  sometimes  yawn, 
And  yield  their  dead  unto  life  again  ; 

And  the  day  that  comes  with  a  cloudy  dawn 
In  golden  glory  at  last  may  wane. 

The  great  tears  sprang  to  their  meeting  eyes  ; 

For  the  heart  must  speak  when  the  lips  are  dumb 
And  under  the  silent  evening  skies, 

Together  they  followed  the  cattle  home. 


AFTER  ALL. 

1  V  WILLIAM  WINTER 


THK  apples  are  ripe  in 
the  orchard, 
The  work  of  the  reaper 
is  done, 


And  the  golden  woodlands  redden 
In  the  blood  of  the  dying  sun. 

At  the  cottage  door  the  grandsire 
Sits  pale  in  his  easy-chair, 

While  the  gentle  wind  of  twilight 
Plays  with  his  silver  hair. 

A  woman  is  kneeling  beside  him  ; 

A  fair  young  head  is  pressed, 
In  the  first  wild  passion  of  sorrow, 

Against  his  agdd  breast. 


And  far  from  over  the  distance 
The  faltering  echoes  come 
214 


Bttcr  au  215 


Of  the  flying  blast  of  trumpet 
And  the  rattling  roll  of  the  drum. 

And  the  grandsire  speaks  in  a  whisper  : 

"  The  end,  no  man  can  see  ; 
But  we  gave  him  to  his  country, 

And  we  give  our  prayers  to  thee." 

The  violets  star  the  meadows, 

The  rosebuds  fringe  the  door, 
And  over  the  grassy  orchard 

The  pink-white  blossoms  pour. 

But  the  grandsire's  chair  is  empty, 

The  cottage  is  dark  and  still  ; 
There  's  a  nameless  grave  in  the  battle-field. 

And  a  new  one  under  the  hill. 

And  a  pallid,  tearless  woman 

By  the  cold  hearth  sits  alone, 
And  the  old  clock  in  the  corner 

Ticks  on  with  a  steady  drone. 


"HE  'LIv  vSEE  IT  WHEN  HE  WAKES." 

By  FRAXK  I,EE. 

[In  "  Bugle  Echoes"  Mr,  Francis  F.  Browne  intro- 
duces this  poem  with  the  following  note:  "In  one 
of  the  battles  in  Virginia,  a  gallant  young  Missis- 
sippian  had  fallen,  and  at  night,  just  before  burying 
him,  there  came  a  letter  from  his  betrothed.  One  of 
the  burial  group  took  the  letter  and  laid  it  upon  the 
breast  of  the  dead  soldier,  with  the  words  :  '  Bury  it  with 
him.     He  '11  see  it  when  he  wakes.'  " — Editor.] 

AMID  the  clouds  of  battle-smoke 
The  sun  had  died  away, 
And  where  the  storm  of  battle  broke 

A  thousand  warriors  lay. 
A  band  of  friends  upon  the  field 

Stood  round  a  youthful  form 
Who,  when  the  war-cloud's  thunder  pealed, 

Had  perished  in  the  storm. 
Upon  his  forehead, on  his  hair, 
The  coming  moonlight  breaks, 
216 


1bc  *ll  See  it  wben  be  Makes  217 

And  each  dear  brother  standing  there 
A  tender  farewell  takes. 

But  ere  they  laid  him  in  his  home 

There  came  a  comrade  near, 
And  gave  a  token  that  had  come 

From  her  the  dead  held  dear. 
A  moment's  doubt  upon  them  pressed, 

Then  one  the  letter  takes. 
And  lays  it  low  upon  his  breast — 

"  He  '11  see  it  when  he  wakes," 
O  thou  who  dost  in  sorrow  wait, 

Whose  heart  with  anguish  breaks, 
Though  thy  dear  message  came  too  late, 

"  He  '11  see  it  when  he  wakes." 

No  more  amid  the  fiery'  storm 

Shall  his  strong  arm  be  seen  ; 
No  more  his  young  and  manly  form 

Tread  Mississippi's  green  ; 
And  e'en  thy  tender  words  of  love — 

The  words  affection  speaks — 
Came  all  too  late  ;  but  oh  !  thy  love 

"  Will  see  them  when  he  wakes." 
No  jars  disturb  his  gentle  rest, 

No  noise  his  slumber  breaks. 
But  thy  words  sleep  upon  his  breast — 

"  He  '11  see  them  when  he  wakes." 
[Southern.] 


TIIlv  RKVHILLIC. 


By  brkt  harti 


HARK  !  I  hear  the  tramp  of  thousands, 
And  of  armed  men  the  hum  ; 
Lo  !  a  nation's  hosts  have  leathered 
Round  the  quick-alarming  drum — 
Saying  :  "Come, 
Freemen,  come  ! 
Ere  your  heritage  be  wasted,"  said  the  quick-alarminj 
drum. 


"  Let  me  of  my  heart  take  counsel  : 

War  is  not  of  life  the  sum  ; 
Who  shall  stay  and  reap  the  harvest 
When  the  autumn  days  shall  come  ?  ' 
But  the  drum 
Echoed  :  "  Come  ! 
Death  shall  reap  the  braver  hars'est." 
soundiui,'  drum. 

218 


said  the  solemn- 


Zbc  IReveillc  219 


"  But  when  won  the  coming  battle. 

What  of  profit  sprinj^s  therefrom  ? 
What  if  conquest,  subjugation, 
Even  greater  ills  become  ?  " 
But  the  drum 
Answered  :  "  Come  ! 
You  must  do  the  sum  to  prove  it,"  said  the  Yankee- 
answering  drum. 

"  What  if,  'mid  the  cannon's  thunder, 

Whistling  shot  and  bursting  l)onib, 
When  ni}'  brothers  fall  around  me, 

Should  my  heart  grow  cold  and  numb  ?  * 
But  the  drum 
Answered  :  "Come! 
Better  there  in  death  united  than  in  life  a  recreant 
—Come!" 

Thus  they  answered — hoping,  fearing, 

Some  in  faith  and  doubting  some, 
Till  a  trumpet-voice  proclaiming. 
Said  :  "  My  chosen  people,  come  1  " 
Then  the  drum, 
lyO  !  was  dumb  ; 
Fo-  the  great  heart  of  the  nation,  throbbing,  an 
swered  :  "Lord,  we  come  !  " 


REVEILLE. 

By  MICHAKL  O'CONNOR. 

[The  author  of  this  poem  was  a  sergeant  in  the  140th 
regiment  of  New  York  volunteers,  who  died  at  the  age 
of  25  3'ears,  at  Potomac  vStation,  Va.,  December  28,  1862. 
— Editor.] 

THE  morning  is  cheery,  my  boys,  arouse  ! 
The  dew  shines  bright  on  the  chestnut  boughs, 
And  the  sleepy  mist  on  the  river  lies, 
Though  the  east  is  flushing  with  crimson  dyes. 
Awake  !  awake  !  awake  ! 

O'er  field  and  wood  and  brake, 
With  glories  newly  bom, 

Comes  on  the  blushing  mom. 
Awake !  awake ! 

You  have  dreamed   of  your  homes  and  friends  all 

night ; 
You   have   basked   in   your  sweethearts'   smiles  so 

bright ; 

220 


•Reveille 


Come,  part  with  them  all  for  a  while  again, — 
Be  lovers  in  dreams ;  when  awake,  be  men, 
Turn  out !  turn  out !  turn  out ! 

You  have  dreamed  full  lon^,  I  know. 
Turn  out  !  turn  out  !  turn  out ! 
The  east  is  all  aglow. 
Turn  out !  turn  out  ! 

From  every  valley  and  hill  they  come 
The  clamoring  voices  of  fife  and  dnmi  ; 
And  out  in  the  fresh,  cool  morning  air 
The  soldiers  are  swarming  everywhere. 
Fall  in  !  fall  in  !  fall  in  ! 
Every  man  in  his  place 
Fall  in  !  fall  in  !  fall  in  ! 
Each  with  a  cheerful  face. 
Fall  in  !  fall  in  ! 


Till-:    WiriTK    ROSE. 

By  JOSKl'H  O'CONNOR. 

IT  is  a  withered  rose, 
That  like  a  rose's  corpse,  full  dry  and  wan, 

Finds  here  its  last  repose, 
Its  lustre  dulled,  its  form  and  softness  crushed, 
The  tender  life  with  which  its  petals  flushed. 
And  all  its  soul  of  subtle  fragrance  gone  ; 

A  primal  rose  that  bloomed 
Among  the  kindling  brands,  as  white  as  frost, 

Where  Zillah  stood  undoomed. 
Or  from  Mahomet's  forehead  fluttered  fair 
To  earth,  when  Al  Borak  cleft  through  the  air 
In  flight  to  heaven,  might  leave  so  frail  a  ghost. 


The  poet  moralist 
Has  ever  taken  sombre  joy  to  sing 

Upon  a  theme  so  trist. 
And  write  in  dust  of  roses  lessons  grim — 
That  pleasures  must  be  snatched  ere  they  grow  dim 
For  germs  of  death  in  folds  of  beauty  cling ; 


Zbe  Wbitc  IR06C  223 


That  since  the  roses  die, 
No  mortal  loveliness  may  long  endure  ; 

No  joy  outlast  a  sigh  ; 
No  passion's  thrill,  no  labor's  work  remain 
Beyond  a  season  ;  that  Decay  doth  reign  ; — 
Though  in  the  tyrant's  very  riot,  sure, 

Some  pledge  of  hope  is  found 
That  all  the  universe  is  not  a  grave 

And  life  sits  somewhere  crowned. 
Not  Tasso's  soft  persuasion  unto  sin 
I  find,  dear  rose,  thy  withered  leaves  within, 
Nor  any  precept  Epicurus  gave  ; 

To  me  thou  dost  not  breathe 
A  thought  of  festivals,  or  memory 

Of  woven,  wine-dipped  wreath, 
Or  kisses  on  ripe  lips,  or  fond  regret 
For  bounds  by  time  to  fleeting  pleasures  set, 
Or  wish  to  bring  thy  beauty  back  to  thee. 


To  kiss  thy  leaves  I  bend. 
And  lo  !     The  crash  of  cannon  fills  mine  ears; 

I  see  the  banners  blend 
Into  the  battle  smoke  ;  and  the  long  lines 
Of  marching  men  where  glint  of  bayonet  shines 
Through  clouds  of  dust  ;  the  hopes,  the  hates,  the 

Of  old  thrill  through  my  heart  ;  [fears 

Again  the  myriad  ghosts  of  the  great  war 

From  out  their  cerements  start ; 


224  Cbc  XUbitc  -Ko^c 

Again  the  nation  in  the  contest  strains 
Its  every  nerve  ;  aj^ain  the  deep  refrains 
Of  groan  and  cheer  break  on  us  from  afar  ! 

What  mystery  of  power 
To  fill  the  mind  with  visions  such  as  these 

Lies  in  this  scentless  flower? 
'T  is  three  and  twenty  years  this  very  June, 
Since  first  it  opened  to  the  southern  noon 
And  swung  in  languor  to  a  southern  breeze  ; 

And  on  the  stalwart  breast 
Of  one  that  wore  the  blue,  while  yet  in  bloom, 

'T  was  set  in  gallant  jest ; 
In  the  long  march's  dust  it  drooped  its  head 
And  in  the  smoke  of  Gettysburg  lay  dead, 
With  many  a  life  more  precious  finding  doom. 

Beside  a  farmer's  home 
In  shade  and  shine  this  rose  of  battle  grew, 

What  time  the  rolling  drum 
Announced  the  crisis  of  the  war  at  hand. 
As  ]\Ieade  pressed  swiftly  north  through  Maryland, 
And  ever  closer  to  Lee's  columns  drew  ; 

On  that  grim,  weary  march 
Rain  seldom  fell ;  the  June  sun  fiercely  glowed, 

And  seemed  all  things  to  parch  ; 
The  winds  grew  still,  nor  in  their  motion  swung 
The  dust  that  round  the  lithe  battalions  clung 
For  miles,  on  many  a  winding  country  road. 


Zbe  limbite  TRoac  225 

The  women  stood  in  groups 
And  watched  with  tear-wet  eyes  and  smiling  lij)s 

The  marching  of  the  troops  ; 
The  smiles  came  at  the  sight  of  manhood  stem 
INIoving  to  sacrifice  with  unconcern  ; 
The  tears  were  for  the  battle's  drear  eclipse 

That  was  so  soon  to  fall 
On  many  a  home  where  then  the  sunshine  slept — 

The  shadow  of  a  pall ; 
And  though  their  hopes  went  with  the  stripes  and  stars, 
Or  lingered  far  away  with  stars  and  bars, 
Yet  they  were  women  still — and  smiled  and  wept ! 

And  where  this  rosebud  lush 
Had  blossomed  into  innocence  and  peace 

Upon  its  modest  bush, 
A  column  halted  for  a  rest  at  noon 
And  the  tired  soldiers,  glad  of  such  a  boon, 
Flung  knapsacks  off,  stacked  arms,  and  took  their  ease. 

And  there  to  one  that  quaffed 
From  the  deep  farmhouse  well,  with  careless  zest, 

A  luscious  draught, 
A  fair  girl  said,  scorn  lurking  round  her  mouth  : 
"  Dare  these  men  meet  the  veterans  of  the  South  ? " 
Half  earnestly  she  spoke,  and  half  in  jest. 

The  soldier's  serious  eyes 
An  instant  flashed,  and  then  grew  soft  again, 

While  yet  the  quick  surprise 

Vol.  II. 


226  Ebc  lUbitc  IRoec 

Was  flushing  his  bronzed  cheek  ;  but  he  was  born 
To  reverence  womanhood,  and  not  to  scorn  ; 
And  so  disdained  to  wound  her  with  disdain. 

He  spoke  with  quiet  grace 
In  even  tones,  a  smile  both  quaint  and  grave 

Upon  his  firm,  strong  face  : 
"  To  wear  in  the  next  battle  give  to  me 
A  rose,"  he  said,  "  and  then  the  rose  will  see  !  " 
In  sobered  mood  she  plucked  this  flower  and  gave. 

It  seems  another  age 
When  things  like  these  were  done  ;  the  rose's  bloom 

He  took  as  battle  gage. 
And  with  his  laughing  comrades  went  his  way. 
Well  knowing  that  the  columns  wide  astray 
Were  fast  converging  for  the  day  of  doom  ! 

O  streams  of  rippling  steel 
That  northward  flowed  with  current  ever  true  ! 

In  thought  we  watched  you  wheel 
Among  the  hills,  a  winding  to  and  fro. 
The  weapons  sparkling  o'er  the  men  below 
Like  glancing  foam  above  the  waves  of  blue  ! 

We  knew  your  end  and  source. 
And  that  your  torrents,  crowned  with  portents  dire. 

Would  keep  their  onward  course 
Till  in  the  battle's  plunge,  with  thunder's  roar. 
And  scorching  flames,  your  cleansing  tides  should  pour 
Abroad,  and  save  the  nation  as  by  fire  ! 


^be  Mbitc  IRosc  227 

The  first  day  of  July, 
Just  north  of  Gettysburg,  the  fight  began 

Whose  memory  will  not  die. 
There  lay  along  the  outskirts  of  a  wood 
A  regiment  busy  in  the  work  of  blood  ; 
And  he  that  wore  the  rose  watched  every  man. 

Alert,  unvexed,  intense, 
And  kept  the  firing  cool,  and  fierce,  and  fast ; 

In  front  in  column  dense 
Stem  Southern  valor  stormed,  and  would  not  flinch, 
Nor  be  denied,  yet  could  not  win  an  inch — 
Till  far  outflanked  our  lines  gave  way  at  last. 

Behind  the  frightened  town. 
On  Cemetery  Hill  the  rout  was  stayed  ; 

And  there  the  men  lay  down 
And  slept  content  among  the  graves  that  night ; 
And  there  this  pallid  rose,  in  soft  moonlight. 
Upon  its  wearer's  heaving  bosom  swayed. 

The  gathering  armies  clashed, 
And  on  the  circling  hills  the  second  day, 

Incessant  cannon  crashed  ; 
And  shot  and  shell  tore  up  each  reverent  mound. 
And  flung  the  tombstones'  shattered  fragments  round — 

Poor  rose,  that  heard  the  din  of  such  a  fray  ! 

On  the  third  day,  behold  ! 
It  saw  the  climax  of  the  battle  come  ; 
When  calm,  and  stern,  and  bold 


228  ^be  XUbitc  "Roec 

The  great  Virtiiuians  charged  and  could  not  win. 
Though  uiauhood's  flower,  as  they  have  ever  been 
In  field,  and  hall,  and  l>y  the  hearth  of  home. 

How  proud  their  column  moved, 
Up  the  long  slope  of  death  with  stubborn  tread, 

Obej'ing  him  they  loved  ! 
And  still  against  the  storm  of  fire  that  scourged 
Supporting  squadrons  backward  as  it  surged, 
How  fierce  they  held  their  way  unwearied  ! 

Mayhap  with  other  foes 
They  might  have  won  ;  but  ever  slow  to  yield 

And  ever  prompt  to  close 
Were  Hancock's  men  ;  and  the  Virginian  shaft 
That  pierced  our  lines  was  shattered,  head  and  haft 
Within  the  wound  ! — And  Lee  had  lost  the  field. 


Amid  the  eddied  smoke, 
The  groans  of  dying  men,  and  the  glad  cheer 

Of  victory  that  broke 
From  hill  to  hill,  this  thing  of  beauty  died  ; 
And  he  that  wore  and  had  forgot  it,  sighed 
And  thought  of  it  again  as  something  dear  ; 

So  from  his  breast  he  took 
The  rose  and  sent  it  home  to  have  it  set 

Within  this  simple  book, 
The  favorite  of  a  girl  he  loved  and  lost. 
And  'mid  the  leaves  it  lingers  like  a  ghost — 
Though  they  be  gone,  the  flower  abideth  yet ! 


XLbc  Mbite  IRose  229 


And  often  when  I  gaze 
Into  its  folds  and  see  these  visions  fair, 

Mine  eyes  are  filled  with  haze 
Of  tears  for  him  that  wore  it,  true  and  brave  ; 
Almost  I  turn  to  fling  it  on  his  grave 
Beside  the  little  flag  that  flutters  there  ! — 

Then  sigh  for  power  to  close 
Within  the  amber  clear  of  poetry 

This  pale  and  withered  rose 
That  else  must  pass  and  crumble  into  dust 
And  squander  in  some  wild  and  windy  gust 
The  essence  I  would  set  in  melody — 

The  feelings  of  the  time 
When  first  it  bloomed  ;  the  deeds  of  sacrifice, 

The  thoughts  and  acts  sublime, 
The  scenes  of  battle  with  their  woe  and  scaith, 
The  courtesy  and  courage,  love  and  faith — 
That  I  can  read  within  it  with  mine  eyes  ! 


THE  BUTE  AND  THE  GRAY. 

By  FRANCIS  MILP:S  FINCH. 

[Suggested  by  the  fact  that  the  women  of  Columbus, 
Miss.,  on  their  decoration  da}'  strewed  flowers,  with  im- 
partial hands,  upon  the  graves  of  northern  and  southern 
soldiers. — Editor]. 

BY  the  flow  of  the  inland  river, 
Whence  the  fleets  of  the  iron  have  fled, 
Where  the  blades  of  the  grave-grass  quiver, 

Asleep  are  the  ranks  of  the  dead  ; 
Under  the  sod  and  the  dew. 

Waiting  the  judgment-day  ; 
Under  the  one,  the  Blue  ; 
Under  the  other,  the  Grav. 


These  in  the  robings  of  glory. 
Those  in  the  gloom  of  defeat : 

All  with  the  battle-blood  gory, 
In  the  dusk  of  eternity  meet ; 
230 


XLbc  JBluc  anD  tbe  (Brai?  231 

Under  the  sod  and  tbe  dew, 

Waiting  the  judgment-day  ; 
Under  the  laurel,  the  Blue  ; 

Under  the  willow,  the  Gray. 

From  the  silence  of  sorrowful  hours, 

The  desolate  mourners  go, 
l/0\nngly  laden  with  flowers. 

Alike  for  the  friends  and  the  foe ; 
Under  the  sod  and  the  dew. 

Waiting  the  judgment-day  ; 
Under  the  roses,  the  Blue  ; 

Under  the  lilies,  the  Gray. 

So,  w^th  an  equal  splendor, 

The  morning  sun-rays  fall, 
With  a  touch  impartially  tender, 

On  the  blossoms  blooming  for  all 
Under  the  sod  and  the  dew, 

Waiting  the  judgment-day  ; 
Broidered  with  gold,  the  Blue, 

Mellowed  with  gold,  the  Gray. 

So,  when  the  summer  calleth, 

On  forest  and  field  of  grain. 
With  an  equal  murmur  falleth. 

The  cooling  drip  of  the  rain ; 


232  Zbc  JCluc  aiiO  tbc  Grag 

Under  the  sod  and  the  dew, 
Waitinji  the  jiidginent-<lay  ; 

Wet  with  the  rain,  the  Bhie  ; 
Wet  with  the  rain,  the  Gray, 

Sadly,  but  not  with  upbraiding, 

The  generous  deed  was  done  ; 
In  the  storm  of  the  years  that  are  fading, 

No  braver  battle  was  won  ; 
Under  the  sod  and  the  dew, 

Waiting  the  judgment-day, 
Under  the  blossoms,  the  Blue  ; 

Under  the  garlands,  the  Gray. 

No  more  shall  the  war-cry  sever, 

Or  the  winding  rivers  be  red  ; 
They  banish  our  anger  forever. 

When  they  laurel  the  graves  of  our  dead. 
Under  the  sod  and  the  dew, 

Waiting  the  judgment-day  ; 
Love  and  tears  for  the  Blue  ; 

Tears  and  love  for  the  Gray. 


READY. 


By  PHOEBE  GARY. 


LOADED  with  j^^allaiit  soldiers, 
A  boat  shot  in  to  the  land, 
And  lay  at  the  rij^ht  of  Rodman's  Point, 
With  her  keel  upon  the  sand. 

Lightly,  gayly,  they  came  to  shore. 

And  never  a  man  afraid  ; 
When  sudden  the  enemy  opened  fire 

From  his  deadly  ambuscade. 

Each  man  fell  fiat  on  the  bottom 
Of  the  boat ;  and  the  captain  said  : 

**  If  we  lie  here,  we  all  are  captured' 
And  the  first  who  moves  is  dead  !  " 


Then  out  spoke  a  negro  sailor, 
No  slavish  soul  had  he  : 

*'  Somebody  's  got  to  die,  boys. 
And  it  might  as  well  be  me  !  " 

233 


234 


lvcaC>\: 


l-irnily  he  rose,  and  fearlessly 

Stepped  out  into  the  tide  ; 
lie  pushed  the  vessel  safely  off, 

Then  fell  across  her  side  : 

Tell,  pierced  by  a  dozen  bullets, 
As  the  boat  swung  clear  and  free  , 

But  there  was  n't  a  man  of  them  there  that  day 
Who  was  fitter  to  die  than  he  ! 


A   GEORGIA    VOLUNTEER. 

By  MARY  ASHLEY  TOWNSEND. 

FAR  up  the  lonely  mountain-side 
My  wandering  footsteps  led  ; 
The  moss  lay  thick  beneath  my  feet, 

The  pine  sighed  overhead. 
The  trace  of  a  dismantled  fort 

Lay  in  the  forest  nave, 
And  in  the  shadow  near  my  path 
I  saw  a  soldier's  grave. 


The  bramble  wrestled  with  the  weed 

Upon  the  lowly  mound, 
The  simple  head-board,  rudely  writ, 

Had  rotted  to  the  ground  ; 
I  raised  it  with  a  reverent  hand, 

From  dust  its  words  to  clear ; 
But  time  had  blotted  all  but  these  : 

"A  Georgia  Volunteer." 

235 


236  B  Ocoroia  Uoluntccr 


I  saw  the  toad  and  scaly  snake 

From  tangled  covert  start, 
And  hide  themselves  among  the  weeds 

Above  the  dead  man's  heart  ; 
But  undisturbed,  in  sleep  profound, 

Unheediuii,  there  he  lay  ; 
His  coffin  but  the  mountain  soil, 

His  shroud,  Confederate  gray. 


I  heard  the  Shenandoah  roll 

Along  the  vale  below, 
I  saw  the  Alleghanies  rise 

Toward  the  realms  of  snow. 
The  "  Valley  Campaign  "  rose  to  mind — 

Its  leader's  name — and  then 
I  knew  the  sleeper  had  been  one 

Of  Stonewall  Jackson's  men. 


Yet  whence  he  came,  what  lip  shall  say- 

Whose  tongue  will  ever  tell 
What  desolated  hearths  and  hearts 

Have  been  because  he  fell  ? 
What  sad-eyed  maiden  braids  her  hair— 

Her  hair  which  he  held  dear  ? 
One  lock  of  which,  perchance  lies  with 

The  Georgia  Volunteer  ! 


a  (5corgia  Doluntccr  237 


What  mother,  with  long-watching  eyes 

And  white  lips  cold  and  dumb, 
Wails  with  appalling  patience  for 

Her  darling  boy  to  come  ? 
Her  boy  !  whose  mountain  grave  swells  up 

But  one  of  many  a  scar 
Cut  on  the  face  of  our  fair  land 

By  gory-handed  war. 


What  fights  he  fought,  what  wounds  he  wore, 

Are  all  unknown  to  fame  ; 
Remember,  on  his  lonely  grave 

There  is  not  even  a  name  ! 
That  he  fought  well  and  bravely  too. 

And  held  his  country  dear. 
We  know,  else  he  had  never  been 

A  Georgia  Volunteer, 


He  sleeps — what  need  to  question  now 

If  he  were  wrong  or  right  ? 
He  knows,  e'er  this,  whose  cause  was  just 

In  God  the  Father's  sight. 
He  wields  no  warlike  weapons  now. 

Returns  no  foeman's  thrust ; 
Who  but  a  coward  would  revile 

An  honest  soldier's  dust  ? 


238  B  ocoriiia  Uoluiitccr 


Roll,  Shenandoah,  proudly  roll 

Adown  thy  rocky  glen  ; 
Aljove  thee  lies  the  grave  of  one 

Of  Stonewall  Jackson's  men. 
Beneath  the  cedar  and  the  i)ine, 

In  solitude  austere, 
Unknown,  unnamed,  forgotten,  lies 

A  Cieorgia  Volunteer. 
[vSouthern.] 


"HOW  ARE  YOU,  vSANlTARY?" 

By  brkt  harte;. 

[There  is  nothing  in  the  history  of  the  Civil  War 
k'orthier  of  celebration  in  verse,  or  more  to  be  honored 
a  the  remembrance,  than  the  organization  and  work  of 
he  United  States  Sanitary  Commission.  When  the 
onditions  created  by  the  stress  of  the  war  became 
pparent,  the  compassion  of  kindly  men  and  women  in 
he  North  was  deeply  stirred  by  the  thought  that  there 
ras  sufifering  among  the  soldiers  which  the  government 
ould  not  relieve,  and  that  there  were  wants  which  could 
lot  be  supplied  by  military  agencies.  The  generous  de- 
ire  to  minister  to  these  wants  and  to  relieve  this  suffering 
i-as  quickly  organized  into  action  with  that  business-like 
agacity  which  distinguishes  the  American  character, 
'he  Sanitary  Commission  was  formed  as  the  agent  and 
Imoner  of  the  popular  generosity.  It  was  supported 
ntirely  by  voluntary  contributions.  It  was  as  thorough- 
y  organized  as  the  army  commissariat  itself,  and  wher- 
239 


240 


"  t>o\v  arc  i)ou,  Samtarg  7 


ever  there  was  a  comfort  needed,  or  a  wounded  or  sick 
man  to  be  cared  for,  its  supply  wagons,  its  appliances, 
and  its  trained  nurses  were  found.  The  affectionate 
gratitude  of  the  troops  toward  the  beneficent  association 
is  reflected  in  this  poem. — Editor,] 


'*  HOW  arp:  you,  sanitary  ? 


DOWN  the  picket-guarded  lane 
Rolled  the  comfort-laden  wain, 
Cheered  by  shouts  that  shook  the  plain, 

Soldier-like  and  merry  : 
Phrases  such  as  camps  may  teach, 
Sabre-cuts  of  Saxon  speech, 
Such  as  "  Bully  !  "   "  Them  's  the  peach  ! 
"  Wade  in,  Sanitary  !  " 


Right  and  left  the  caissons  drew 
As  the  car  went  lumbering  through, 
Quick  succeeding  in  review 

Squadrons  military  ; 
Sunburnt  men  w^ith  beards  like  frieze. 
Smooth-faced  boys,  and  cries  like  these 
*'  U.  S.  San.  Com."  "  That 's  the  cheese  ! 

"Pass  in,  Sanitary  !  " 

Vol.  II.  241 


242  ••  Dow  Brc  Hon,  Samtarg  ? 


In  such  cheer  it  struggled  on 
Till  the  battle  front  was  won  ; 
Then  the  car,  its  journey  clone, 

Lo  !  was  stationary  ; 
And  where  bullets  whistlins^  fly 
Came  the  sadder,  fainter  cry  : 
"  Help  us,  brothers,  ere  we  die  ! 

Save  us,  Sanitary  !  " 

Such  the  work.  The  phantom  flies, 
Wrapped  in  battle-clouds  that  rise  ; 
But  the  brave — whose  dying  eyes, 

Veiled  and  \nsionary. 
See  the  jasper  gates  swung  wide, 
See  the  parted  throng  outside — 
Hears  the  voice  to  those  wuo  nde  : 

"  Pass  in,  Sanitary  !  " 


THE  MEN. 

By  MAURICE  BElyl/. 

IN  the  dusk  of  the  forest  shade 
A  sallow  and  dusty  group  reclined  ; 
Gallops  a  horseman  up  the  glade — 
"  Where  will  I  your  leader  find  ? 
Tidings  I  bring  from  the  morning's  scout- 
I  've  borne  them  o'er  mound  and  moor 
and  fen." 
"  Well,  sir,  stay  not  hereabout. 
Here  are  onlv  a  few  of  '  the  men.' 


'*  Here  no  collar  has  bar  or  star, 

No  rich  lacing  adorns  the  sleeve  ; 
Further  on  our  officers  are. 

Let  them  your  report  receive. 
Higher  up  on  the  hill  up  there. 

Overlooking  this  shady  glen, 
There  are  their  quarters — don't  stop  here, 

We  are  only  some  of  '  the  men.' 

243 


244  Cbe  /Ibcii 


"  Yet  stay,  courier,  if  you  bear 

Ti(linj(s  that  a  fi^lit  is  near  ; 
Tell  them  we  're  ready,  and  that  where 

They  wish  us  to  be  we  '11  soon  ajipear ; 
Tell  them  only  to  let  us  know 

Where  to  form  our  ranks  and  when  ; 
And  we  '11  teach  the  vaunting  foe 

That  thev  've  met  with  some  of  *  the  men. 


"  We  're  the  )ncn,  though  our  clothes  are  worn — 

We  're  llic  luen,  though  we  wear  no  lace — 
We  're  the  men,  who  the  foe  have  torn, 

And  scattered  their  ranks  in  dire  disgrace — 
We  're  the  men  who  have  triumphed  before — 

We  're  the  men  who  will  triumph  again  ; 
For  the  dust  and  the  smoke  and  the  cannon's  roar, 

And  the  clashing  bayonets — '  we  're  the  men.' 

"  Ye  who  sneer  at  the  battle-scars, 

Of  garments  faded  and  soiled  and  bare, 
Yet  who  have  for  the  *  stars  and  bars  ' 

Praise  and  homage  and  dainty  fare ; 
Mock  the  wearers  and  pass  them  on, 

Refuse  them  kindly  word — and  then 
Know  if  your  freedom  is  ever  won 

By  human  agents — these  are  the  men  .'  " 


[Southern. J 


THE  GUERILLAS. 

By  S.  TEACKLE  WAI.US. 

AWAKE  !  and  to  liorse  my  brotliers, 
For  the  dawn  is  glimmering  gray, 
And  hark  !  in  the  crackling  brushwood, 
There  are  feet  that  tread  this  way. 

' '  Who  Cometh  ?  "  "A  friend. "    "  What  tidings  ? 

"O  God  !  I  sicken  to  tell, 
For  the  earth  seems  earth  no  longer, 

And  its  sights  are  the  sights  of  hell. 

''  There  's  rapine  and  fire  and  slaughter, 
From  the  mountain  down  to  the  shore. 

There  's  blood  on  the  trampled  harvest. 
And  blood  on  the  homestead  floor. 

"  From  the  far-off"  conquered  cities, 

Comes  the  voice  of  a  stifled  w^ail, 
And  the  shrieks  and  moans  of  the  homeless 

Ring  like  the  dirge  of  a  gale. 

245 


240  Zbc  Guerillas 

"  I  have  seen  from  the  smokinj^  village, 
Our  mothers  and  daus^hters  fly, 

I  've  seen  where  the  little  children. 
Sank  down  in  the  furrows  to  die. 

"On  the  banks  of  the  battle-stained  river, 
I  stood  as  the  moonlight  shone, 

And  it  glared  on  the  face  of  my  brother, 
As  the  sad  wave  swept  him  on. 

"  Where  my  home  was  glad,  are  ashes, 
And  horror  and  shame  had  been  there, 

For  I  found  on  the  fallen  lintel, 
This  tress  of  my  wife's  torn  hair. 

"  They  are  turning  the  slave  upon  us, 
And  with  more  than  the  fiend's  worst  art 

Have  uncovered  the  fires  of  the  savage. 
That  slept  in  his  untaught  heart. 

"  The  ties  to  our  hearts  that  bound  him, 
They  have  rent  with  curses  away, 

And  madden  him  in  their  madness 
To  be  almost  as  brutal  as  they. 

"  With  halter  and  torch  and  Bible, 
And  hymns  to  the  sound  of  the  drum, 

They  preach  the  gospel  of  murder, 
And  pray  for  lust's  kingdom  to  come. 


^be  Guerillas  247 


"  To  saddle  !  my  brothers  !  to  saddle  ! 

Look  up  to  the  rising  sun, 
And  ask  of  the  God  who  shines  there, 

Whether  deeds  like  these  shall  be  done. 

"  Whither  the  vandal  conieth, 

Press  home  to  his  heart  with  your  steel, 
And  where'er  at  his  bosom  ye  cannot, 

lyike  the  serpent,  go  strike  at  his  heel. 

"Through  thicket  and  wood  go  hunt  him, 

Creep  up  to  his  camp-fire  side. 
And  let  ten  of  his  corpses  blacken, 

Where  one  of  our  brothers  hath  died. 

"  In  his  fainting  footsore  marches. 
In  his  flight  from  the  stricken  fray, 

In  the  snare  of  the  lonely  ambush. 
The  debts  that  we  owe  him,  pay. 

*'  In  God's  hands  alone  is  vengeance. 
But  he  strikes  with  the  hands  of  men, 

And  his  blight  would  wither  our  manhood^ 
If  we  smote  not  the  smiter  again. 

"  By  the  graves  where  our  fathers  slumber, 
By  the  shrines  where  our  mothers  prayed, 

By  our  homes  and  hopes  of  freedom, 
Let  every  man  swear  by  his  blade. — 


Cbc  OucriUas 


"That  he  will  not  sheathe  nor  stay  it, 
Till  from  j^oint  to  hilt  it  j^low, 

With  the  flush  of  Alinii^hty  justice, 
In  the  blood  of  the  cruel  foe." 

They  swore  ;  and  the  answering  sunlii^hl 
Leapt  from  their  lifted  swords, 

And  the  hate  in  their  hearts  made  echo, 
To  the  wrath  of  their  burning  words. 

[Southern.  ] 


WHEN  THIS  CRUEL  WAR  IS  OVER. 

[There  is  nothins^  in  this  sentiineiital  song  that  enables 
one  to  read  the  riddle  of  its  remarkable  popularity  during 
the  Civil  War.  It  has  no  poetic  merit ;  its  rhythm  is  com- 
monplace, and  the  tune  to  which  it  was  sung  was  of  the 
flimsiest  musical  structure,  without  even  a  trick  of  mel- 
ody to  commend  it.  Yet  the  song  was  more  frequently 
sung,  on  both  sides,  than  any  other,  the  Southern  sol- 
diers inserting  "gray  "  for  "  blue  "  in  the  sixth  line  of 
the  first  stanza,  with  cheerful  recklessness  of  the  efilect 
upon  the  rhyme.  The  thing  was  heard  in  every  camp 
every  day  and  many  times  every  day.  Men  chanted  it 
on  the  march,  and  women  sang  it  to  piano  accompani- 
ment in  all  houses.  A  song  which  so  strongly  appealed 
to  two  great  armies  and  to  an  entire  people  is  worthy 
of  a  place  in  all  collections  of  war  poetry,  even  though 
criticism  is  baffled  in  the  attempt  to  discover  the  reason 
of  its  popularity. — Editor.] 
249 


WHEN  THIS  CRUIvL  WAR  IS  OVER. 

DEAREST  love,  do  you  remember 
When  we  last  did  meet, 
How  you  told  me  that  you  loved  me 

Kneeling  at  my  feet  ? 
Oh,  how  proud  you  stood  before  me 

In  your  suit  of  blue, 
When  you  vowed  to  me  and  country' 
Ever  to  be  true. 
Chorus. — Weeping,  sad  and  lonely, 

Hopes  and  fears,  how  vain  ; 
Yet  praying 

When  this  cruel  war  is  over, 
Praying  that  we  meet  again. 


When  the  summer  breeze  is  sighing 

Mournfully  along. 
Or  when  autumn  leaves  are  falling, 

Sadly  breathes  the  song. 
Oft  in  dreams  I  see  thee  lying 

On  the  battle  plain, 
250 


Wibcn  tbi6  Cruel  ^Uau  i^  Over 


Lonely,  wounded,  even  dying. 
Calling,  but  in  vain. 
Chorus. — Weeping,  sad,  etc. 

If,  amid  the  din  of  battle. 

Nobly  you  should  fall, 
Far  away  from  those  who  love  you. 

None  to  hear  you  call. 
Who  would  whisper  words  of  comfort? 

Who  would  soothe  your  pain  ? 
Ah,  the  many  cruel  fancies 

Kver  in  my  brain  ! 
Chorus. — Weeping,  sad,  etc. 

But  our  country  called  you,  darling. 

Angels  cheer  your  way  ! 
While  our  nation's  sons  are  fighting, 

W^e  can  only  pray. 
Nobly  strike  for  God  and  countr}', 

Let  all  nations  see 
How  we  love  the  starry  banner. 

Emblem  of  the  free. 
Chorus. — Weeping,  sad,  etc. 


fDMUND  CI.AKKNCK  STEDMAJS. 

Ol'R  good  steeds  snuff  the  even- 
in<r  air, 
Our     pulses    with     their    purpose 
tiui^le ; 
The    foeman's    fires    are    twinkling 
there  ; 
He  leaps  to  hear  our  sabres  jingle  ! 
Halt ! 


Caralrv?  boiui  253 


Each  carbine  sends  its  whizzinj;^  hall  ; 
Now,  cling  !  clang  !  forward  all, 
Into  the  fight ! 

Dash  on  heneath  the  smoking  dome  ; 

Through  level  lightnings  gallop  nearer  ! 
One  look  to  heaven  !     No  thoughts  of  home 
The  guidons  that  we  bear  are  dearer. 
Charge  ! 
Cling  !  clang  !  forward  all, 
Heaven  help  those  whose  horses  fall  ! 
Cut  left  and  right ! 

They  flee  before  our  fierce  attack  ! 

They  fall  !  they  spread  in  broken  surges  ! 
Now,  comrades,  bear  our  wounded  back. 
And  leave  the  foeman  to  his  dirges. 
Wheel  ! 
The  bugles  sound  the  swift  recall  ; 
Cling  !  clang  !  backward  all  ! 
Home,  and  good-night  ! 


CAVALRY  vSONG. 

Bv  KOSSITER  W.  RAYMOND. 

OUR  bugles  souucl  gayly.     To  horse  and  away  ! 
And  over  the  mountains  breaks  the  day  ; 
Then  ho  !  brothers,  ho  !  for  the  ride  or  the  fight, 
There  are  deeds  to  be  done  ere  we  slumber  to-night  ! 
And  whether  we  fight  or  whether  we  fall 
By  sabre-stroke  or  rifle-ball. 
The  hearts  of  the  free  will  remember  us  yet, 
And  our  country,  our  country  will  never  forget ! 

Then  mount  and  away  !  let  the  coward  delight 
To  be  lazy  all  day  and  safe  all  night ; 
Our  joy  is  a  charger,  flecked  with  foam, 
And  the  earth  is  our  bed  and  the  saddle  our  home  ; 
And  whether  we  fight,  etc. 

See  yonder  the  ranks  of  the  traitorous  foe. 
And  bright  in  the  sunshine  bayonets  glow  ! 
Breathe  a  prayer,  but  no  sigh  ;  think  for  what  you  would 

fight; 
Then  charge  !  with  a  will,  boys,  and  God  for  the  right  ! 

And  whether  we  fight,  etc. 
254 


Cavalry  Song 


255 


We  have  gathered  again  the  red  laurels  of  war  ; 
We  have  followed  the  traitors  fast  and  far  ; 
But  some  who  rose  gayly  this  morn  with  the  sun 
Lie  bleeding  and  pale  on  the  field  they  have  won  ! 
But  whether  we  fight,  etc. 


THE  CAVALRY  CHARGE. 


By  benjamin  F.  TAYLOR. 


HARK  !  the  rattling  roll  of  the  musketeers, 
And  the  rufiled  drums,  and  tbe  rallyinj^  cheers, 
And  the  rifles  bum  with  a  keen  desire 
Like  the  crackling  whips  of  a  hemlock  fire, 
And  the  singing  shot  and  the  shrieking  shell 
And  the  splintered  fire  on  the  shattered  hell, 
And  the  great  white  breaths  of  the  cannon  smoke 
As  the  growling  guns  by  batteries  spoke  ; 
And  the  ragged  gaps  in  the  walls  of  blue 
Where  the  iron  surge  rolled  heavily  through. 
That  the  Colonel  builds  with  a  breath  again 
As  he  cleaves  the  din  with  his  "  Close  up,  men  !  " 
And  the  groan  torn  out  from  the  blackened  lips, 
And  the  prayer  doled  slow  with  the  crimsoned  drips, 
And  the  beaming  look  in  the  djdng  eye 
As  under  the  cloud  the  stars  go  by, 
'^  But  his  soul  marched  on  /  "  the  Captain  said, 
For  the  Boy  in  Blue  can  never  be  dead  ! 
256 


^bc  Cavalrg  Cbargc  257 

And  the  troopers  sit  in  their  saddles  all 

Like  statues  carved  in  an  ancient  hall, 

And  they  watch  the  whirl  from  their  breathless  ranks, 

And  their  spurs  are  close  to  the  horses'  flanks, 

And  the  fingers  work  of  the  sabre  hand — 

Oh,  to  bid  them  live,  and  to  make  them  grand  ! 

And  the  bugle  sounds  to  the  charge  at  last, 

And  away  they  plunge,  and  the  front  is  passed ! 

And  the  jackets  blue  grow  red  as  they  ride, 

And  the  scabbards  too,  that  clank  by  their  side. 

And  the  dead  soldiers  deaden  the  strokes  iron-shod 

As  they  gallop  right  on  o'er  the  plashy  red  sod — 

Right  into  the  cloud  all  spectral  and  dim, 

Right  up  to  the  guns  black-throated  and  grim, 

Right  down  on  the  hedges  bordered  with  steel, 

Right  through  the  dense  columns — then  ''Right 

about  zvhccl !  " 
Hurrah  !  a  new  swath  through  the  harvest  again  ! 
Hurrah  for  the  Flag  !     To  the  battle,  Amen  ! 


THK  CAVALRY  CHARGE. 

By  FRANCIS  A.  DURIVAGE. 

WITH  bray  of  the  trumpet 
And  roll  of  the  drum, 
And  keen  ring  of  bugle, 

The  cavalry  come. 
Sharp  clank  the  steel  scabbards, 

The  bridle-chains  ring, 

And  foam  from  red  nostrils 

The  wild  chargers  fling. 

Tramp  !  tramp  !  o'er  the  greensward 

That  quivers  below, 
Scarce  held  by  the  curb-bit 

The  fierce  horses  go  ! 
And  the  grim-visaged  colonel, 

With  ear-rending  shout, 
Peals  forth  to  the  squadrons 

The  order:  "  1  roi  out  ! '' 
258 


Xlbc  Cavalri?  Cbar^e  259 


One  hand  on  the  sabre, 

And  one  on  the  rein, 
The  troopers  move  forward 

In  line  on  the  plain. 
As  rings  the  word  "  Gallop  /  " 

The  steel  scabbards  clank, 
And  each  rowel  is  pressed 

To  a  horse's  hot  flank  : 
And  swift  is  their  rush 

As  the  wild  torrent's  flow, 
When  it  pours  from  the  crag 

On  the  valley  below. 

"  Charge  !  "  thunders  the  leader 

Like  shaft  from  the  bow 
Each  mad  horse  is  hurled 

On  the  wavering  foe. 
A  thousand  bright  sabres 

Are  gleaming  in  air  : 
A  thousand  dark  horses 

Are  dashed  on  the  square. 
Resistless  and  reckless 

Of  aught  may  betide, 
Like  demons,  not  mortals. 

The  wild  troopers  ride. 
Cut  right !  and  cut  left  !— 

For  the  parry  who  needs  ? 
The  bayonets  shiver 

Like  wind-scattered  reeds. 


26o  XLbc  Cavalry  Cbar^c 

Vain — vain  the  red  volley 

That  bursts  from  the  square, 
The  random-shot  bullets 

Are  wasted  in  air. 
Triumphant,  remorseless, 

Unerring  as  death, — 
No  sabre  that  's  stainless 

Returns  to  its  sheath. 

The  wounds  that  are  dealt 
By  that  murderous  steel 

Will  never  yield  case 
For  the  surgeon  to  heal. 

Hurrah  !  thev  are  broken — 


Hurrah  !  boys,  they  fly 
None  linger  save  those 
Who  but  linger  to  die. 


Rein  up  your  hot  horses 

And  call  in  your  men, — 
The  trumpet  sounds  "  Rally 

To  colors  !  "  again. 
Some  saddles  are  empty, 

Some  comrades  are  slain. 
And  some  noble  horses 

Lie  stark  on  the  plain  ; 
But  war  's  a  chance  game,  boys. 

And  weeping  is  vain. 


ROIvIv-CALIv. 


By  N.  G.  shepherd. 


'<  /^^ORPORAIv  Green  !  "  the  Orderly  cried  ; 
V_>     "  Here  !  "  was  the  answer,  loud  and  clear, 
From  the  lips  of  the  soldier  who  stood  near, — 

And  "  Here  !  "  was  the  word  the  next  replied. 

"  Cyrus  Drew  !  " — then  a  silence  fell : 
This  time  no  answer  followed  the  call ; 
Only  his  rear-man  had  seen  him  fall  : 

Killed  or  wounded — he  could  not  tell. 

There  they  stood  in  the  failing  light. 

These  men  of  battle,  with  grave,  dark  looks, 
As  plain  to  be  read  as  open  books. 

While  slowly  gathered  the  shades  of  night. 

The  fern  on  the  hill-sides  was  splashed  with  blood. 
And  down  in  the  corn  where  the  poppies  grew 
Were  redder  stains  than  the  poppies  knew  ; 

And  crimson-dyed  was  the  river's  flood, 
261 


262  "Roll^Call 

For  the  foe  had  crossed  from  the  other  side 
That  day,  in  the  face  of  a  murderous  fire 
That  swept  them  down  in  its  terrible  ire, 

And  their  life-blood  went  to  color  the  tide. 

"  Herbert  Kline  !  "     At  the  call  there  came 
Two  stalwart  soldiers  into  the  line, 
Bearing  between  them  this  Herbert  Kline, 

Wovnided  and  bleedinj^,  to  answer  his  name. 

"  Ezra  Kerr  !  " — and  a  voice  answered,  "  Here  !  " 
"  Hiram  Kerr  !  " — but  no  man  replied. 
They  were  brotlicrs,  these  two  ;  the  sad  winds  sij^hed, 

And  a  shudder  crept  through  the  cornfield  near. 

"  Kphraim  Deane  !  " — then  a  soldier  spoke  : 

"  Deane  carried  our  regiment's  colors,"  he  said  ; 
"  Where  our  ensign  was  shot  I  left  him  dead. 

Just  after  the  enemy  wavered  and  broke. 

"  Close  to  the  road-side  his  body  lies  ; 

I  paused  a  moment  and  gave  him  a  drink  ; 

He  munnured  his  mother's  name,  I  think. 
And  Death  came  with  it.  and  closed  his  eyes." 

'T  was  a  victory  ;  yes,  but  it  cost  us  dear, — 
For  that  company's  roll,  when  called  at  night, 
Of  a  hundred  men  who  went  into  the  fight, 

Numbered  but  twenty  that  answered  *'  Here  !  " 
[Southern.] 


READING  THK  LIST. 

"IS  there  any  news  of  the  war  ?  "  she  said. 
1      "  Only  a  list  of  the  wounded  and  dead," 

Was  the  man's  reply, 

Without  lifting  his  eye 

To  the  face  of  the  woman  standing  by. 
"  'T  is  the  very  thing  I  want,"  she  said  ; 
"  Read  me  a  list  of  the  wounded  and  dead." 
He  read  the  list — 't  was  a  sad  array 
Of  the  wounded  and  killed  in  the  fatal  fray. 

In  the  very  midst,  was  a  pause  to  tell 

Of  a  gallant  youth  who  fought  so  well 

That  his  comrades  asked  :  *'  Who  is  he,  pra}'  ?  " 

"  The  only  son  of  the  Widow  Gray," 

Was  the  proud  reply 

Of  his  captain  nigh — 
What  ails  the  woman  standing  near? 
Her  face  has  the  ashen  hue  of  fear  ! 

"  Well,  well,  read  on  ;  is  he  wounded?     Quick  ! 
O  God  !  but  my  heart  is  sorrow-sick  ! 

263 


264  'Keaditid  tbe  Xist 

Is  he  wounded  ?  "     '"  No  ;  he  fell,  they  say, 
Killed  outright  on  that  fatal  day  !  " 
But  see,  the  woman  has  swooned  away  ! 

Sadly  she  opened  her  eyes  to  the  light ; 
Slowly  recalled  the  events  of  the  fight  ; 
Faintly  she  murmured  :  "  Killed  outright ! 
It  has  cost  nie  the  life  of  my  only  son  ; 
But  the  battle  is  fought,  and  the  victory  won 
The  will  of  the  Lord,  let  it  be  done  !  " 

God  pity  the  cheerless  Widow  Gray, 
And  send  from  the  halls  of  eternal  day 
The  light  of  his  peace  to  illumine  her  way. 

[Southern.] 


H^j™B^^K^"''Mir  ^^ff^^BK 

^s 

M^m 

Jsf  ^jSSl'^-  jdf     ^w^^^^^jLLJSW*? 

#^'^1 

mm^'\ 

A  WOMAN  OF  THK  WAR. 

By  ROSSITKR  JOHNSON. 

[The  tenderly  pathetic  stor>'  told  in  this  poem  is  true. 
Its  heroine  was  Margaret  Augusta  Peterson,  a  volunteer 
nurse  in  St.  Mary's  Hospital  at  Rochester,  New  York. 
She  died  in  the  manner  related,  on  the  first  of  September, 
1864,  and  lies  buried  in  Mount  Hope  Cemetery,  Roches- 
ter, as  does  also  the  young  surgeon,  her  lover. — Editor.] 

THROUGH  the  sombre  arch  of  that  gateway  tower 
Where  my  humblest  townsman  rides  at  last, 
You  may  spy  the  bells  of  a  nodding  flower, 
On  a  double  mound  that  is  thickly  grassed. 

And  between  the  spring  and  the  summer  time, 

Or  ever  the  lilac's  bloom  is  shed, 
When  they  come  with  banners  and  wreaths  and  rhyme, 

To  deck  the  tombs  of  the  nation's  dead, 
265 


266  B  'Oaoman  ot  tbc  IQar 

They  find  there  a  little  flag  in  the  grass, 

And  fling  a  handful  of  roses  down, 
And  pause  a  moment  before  they  pass 

To  the  captain's  grave  with  the  gilded  crown. 

Hut  if  perchance  they  seek  to  recall 
What  name,  what  deeds,  these  honors  declare, 

They  cannot  tell,  they  are  silent  all 

As  the  noiseless  harebell  nodding  there. 

She  was  tall,  with  an  almost  manly  grace, 

And  young,  with  strange  wisdom  for  one  so  young, 

And  fair  with  more  than  a  woman's  face  ; 
With  dark,  deep  eyes,  and  a  mirthful  tongue. 

The  poor  and  the  fatherless  knew  her  smile  ; 

The  friend  in  sorrow  had  seen  her  tears  ; 
She  had  studied  the  ways  of  the  rough  world's  guile, 

And  read  the  romance  of  historic  years. 

What  she  might  have  been  in  these  times  of  ours, 

At  once  it  is  easy  and  hard  to  guess  ; 
Tor  always  a  riddle  are  half-used  powers, 

And  always  a  power  is  lovingness. 

But  her  fortunes  fell  upon  evil  days — 

If  days  are  evil  when  evil  dies, — 
And  she  was  not  one  who  could  stand  at  gaze 

Where  the  hopes  of  humanity  fall  and  rise. 


B  •QCloman  of  tbc  TKIlar  267 

Nor  could  she  dance  to  the  viol's  tune, 

When  the  drum  was  throbbing  throughout  the  land, 
Or  dream  in  the  light  of  the  summer  moon 

When  Treason  was  clenching  his  mailed  hand. 

Through  the  long  gray  hospital's  corridor 
She  journeyed  many  a  mournful  league, 

And  her  light  foot  fell  on  the  oaken  floor 
As  if  it  never  could  know  fatigue. 

She  stood  by  the  good  old  surgeon's  side, 

And  the  sufferers  smiled  as  they  saw  her  stand  . 

She  wrote,  and  the  mothers  marvelled  and  crieil 
At  their  darling  soldiers'  feminine  hand. 

She  was  last  in  the  ward  when  the  lights  burned  low, 
And  sleep  called  a  truce  to  his  foeman  Pain  ; 

At  the  midnight  cry  she  was  first  to  go, 
To  bind  up  the  bleeding  wound  again. 

For  sometimes  the  wreck  of  a  man  would  rise, 
Weird  and  gaunt  in  the  watch-lamp's  gleam, 

And  tear  away  bandage  and  splints  and  ties, 
Fighting  the  battle  all  o'er  in  his  dream. 

No  wonder  the  youngest  surgeon  felt 
A  charm  in  the  presence  of  that  brave  soul. 

Through  weary  weeks,  as  she  nightly  knelt 
With  the  letter  from  home  or  the  doctor's  dole. 


268  a  •QDloman  of  tbc  Wiat 


He  heard  her  called,  and  he  heard  her  blessed, 
With  many  a  patriot's  parting  breath  ; 

And  ere  his  soul  to  itself  confessed. 
Love  leaped  to  life  in  those  vigils  of  death. 

*'  Oh,  fly  to  your  home  !  "  came  a  whisper  dread, 
"  For  now  the  pestilence  walks  by  night." 

*'  The  greater  the  need  of  me  here,"  she  said, 
And  bared  her  arm  for  the  lancet's  bite. 

Was  there  death,  green  death,  in  the  atmosphere? 

Was  the  bright  steel  poisoned  ?     Who  can  tell ! 
Her  weeping  friends  gathered  beside  her  bier, 

And  the  clergyman  told  them  all  was  well. 

Well — alas  that  it  should  be  so  ! 

When  a  nation's  debt  reaches  reckoning-day — 
Well  for  it  to  be  able,  but  woe 

To  the  generation  that  's  called  to  pay  ! 

Down  from  the  long  gray  hospital  came 

Every  boy  in  blue  who  could  walk  the  floor ; 

The  sick  and  the  wounded,  the  blind  and  the  lame, 
Formed  two  long  files  from  her  father's  door. 

There  was  grief  in  many  a  manly  breast, 
While  men's  tears  fell  as  the  cofl&n  passed ; 

And  thus  she  went  to  the  world  of  rest, 
Martial  and  maidenly  up  to  the  last. 


a  moman  of  tbc  llOar  269 

And  that  youngest  surgeon,  was  he  to  blame  ? — 
He  held  the  lancet — Heaven  only  knows. 

No  matter  ;  his  heart  broke  all  the  same, 
And  he  laid  him  down,  and  never  arose. 

So  Death  received,  in  his  greedy  hand, 
Two  precious  coins  of  the  awful  price 

That  purchased  freedom  for  this  dear  land — 
For  master  and  bondman — yea,  bought  it  twice. 

Such  fates  too  often  such  women  are  for ! 

God  grant  the  Republic  a  large  increase, 
To  match  the  heroes  in  time  of  war. 

And  mother  the  children  in  time  of  peace. 


^M 

^^^ 

^^?^l^^^r^3fr^M!S*'*^^RB8 

-T^TJUl^fff^^fflMr'  i^ftiSi 

GLORY  HALLPXl'JAH  !    OR,  JOHN  BROWN'S 
BODY. 

[The  strong  hold  which  this  song  and  the  three  which 
follow  it  ("Marching  thro'  Georgia,"  "The  liattle-Cry 
of  r'reedom  "  and  "Tramp,  Tramp,  Tramp")  had  upon 
the  favor  of  the  Union  soldiers  during  the  war  entitles 
them  to  insertion  here  in  spite  of  their  lack  of  poetic 
merit.  The  critics,  from  the  time  of  Mr.  Richard  Grant 
White's  collection  until  now,  have  condemned  them  as 
doggerel,  but  songs  that  were  sung  with  enthusiasm  by 
all  the  soldiers  of  the  republic  during  the  dark  years  of 
the  Civil  War  cannot  he  denied  the  possession  of  merit, 
whether  criticism  is  able  to  recognize  it  or  not. — Editor.] 


270 


CxIvORY  HALLEI.UJAH  !    OR  JOHN  BROWN'S 
BODY. 

JOHN  BROWN'S  body  lies  a-niould'rinsr  in  the  grave, 
John  Brown's  body  lies  a-nionld'ring  in  the  grave, 
John  Brown's  body  lies  a-niould'ring  in  the  grave, 
His  soul  is  marching  on  ! 

Chorus. — Glory  !  Glory  Hallelujah  ! 
Glory  !  Glory  Hallelujah  ! 
Glory  !  Glory  Hallelujah  ! 
His  soul  is  marching  on. 

He  's  gone  to  be  a  soldier  in  the  army  of  the  Lord  ! 
He  's  gone  to  be  a  soldier  in  the  army  of  the  Lord  ! 
He  's  gone  to  be  a  soldier  in  the  army  of  the  Lord  ! 
His  soul  is  marching  on. — Chorus. 

John  Brown's  knapsack  is  vStrapped  upon  his  back. 
His  soul  is  marching  on. — Chorus. 
271 


272  (Blorg  t)allclujab! 

His  pet  lambs  will  meet  him  on  the  way, 

And  they  '11  go  marching  on. — Chorus. 

They  '11  hang  Jeff  Davis  on  a  sour  apple  tree, 
As  they  go  marching  on. — Chorus. 

Now  for  the  Union  let 's  give  three  rousing  cheers, 
As  we  go  marching  on. 

Hip,  hip,  hip,  hip.  Hurrah  ! 


MARCHING  THROUGH  GEORGIA. 

BRING  the  good  old  bugle,  boys  !  we  '11  sing  another 
song — 
Sing  it  with  a  spirit  that  will  start  the  world  along — 
Sing  it  as  we  used  to  sing  it  fifty  thousand  strong, 
While  we  were  marching  through  Georgia. 

Chorus. — "  Hurrah  !  Hurrah  !  we  bring  the  jubilee  ! 

Hurrah  !   Hurrah  !  the  flag  that  makes  you 

free!" 
So  we  sang  the  chorus  from  Atlanta  to  the  sea, 
While  we  were  marching  through  Georgia. 

How  the  darkeys  shouted  when  they  heard  the  joyful 

sound  ! 
How  the  turkeys  gobbled  which  our  commissary  found  ! 
How  the  sweet  potatoes  even  started  from  the  ground, 
While  we  were  marching  through  Georgia. — Chorus. 

Yes,  and  there  were  Union  men  who  wept  with  joyful 

tears, 
When  they  saw  the  honor'd  flag  they  had  not  seen  for 
years ; 
Vol.  II.  273 


276 


Zbe  JBattlcsCrg  of  ^rccDom 


We  will  welcome  to  our  numbers   the  loyal,  true,   anc^ 
brave, 

Shoutiug  the  battle-crj'  of  freedom, 
And  altho'  they  may  be  poor,  not  a  man  shall  be  a  slave. 

Shouting  the  battle-cry  of  freedom. — Chorus. 

So  we  're  springing  to  the  call  from  the  East  and  from 
the  West, 
Shouting  the  battle-cry-  of  freedom, 
And  we  '11  hurl  the  rebel  crew  from  the  land  we  love  the 
best, 
Shouting  the  battle-cry  of  freedom. — Chorus. 


I^^._^M 


TRAMP,  TRAMP,  TRAMP. 

IN  the  prison  cell  I  sit, 
Thinking,  mother  dear,  of  you. 
And  our  bright  and  happy  home  so  far  away, 

And  the  tears  they  fill  my  eyes, 
Spite  of  all  that  I  can  do, 

Tho'  I  try  to  cheer  my  comrades  and  be  gay. 

Chorus. — Tramp,  tramp,  tramp,  the  boys  are  marching, 
Oh,  cheer  up,  comrades,  they  will  come, 
And  beneath  the  starry   flag  we  shall  breathe 
the  air  again. 
Of  freedom  in  our  own  beloved  home. 


In  the  battle  front  we  stood 

When  the  fiercest  charge  they  made. 
And  they  swept  us  off  a  hundred  men  or  more, 

But  before  we  reached  their  lines 
They  were  beaten  back  dismayed, 

And  we  heard  the  cry  of  vict'ry  o'er  and  o'er. — Chorus, 

277 


278  ^ramp,  Eramp,  tlramp 

vSo  within  the  prison  cell 

We  are  waiting  for  the  clay 
That  shall  come  to  open  wide  the  iron  door, 

And  the  hollow  eye  grows  bright, 
And  the  poor  heart  almost  gay. 

As  we  think  of  seeing  friends  and  home 
once  more. — Chorus. 


END  OF  vol.,  II. 


